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wordsnwhiskey · 4 years ago

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Is It Living If You've Left Your Life Behind?

Pairing: Dave York & GN!Reader

Summary: Thanks to you, Dave escaped the showdown with McCall. You planned to take him to a safehouse on the other side of the country where he could recover and get started on living a new life. In order to do that though, he has to leave his wife, his daughters and his life behind. He can't help but wonder, is it really living if he has to leave his life behind?

Rating: T for Language I guess

A/N: This is my late submission for @autumnleaves1991-blog 's Writer Wednesday. I got into my feels tonight and Dave was calling to me. It's my first time writing for him and this is a different take on Dave than I'd normally go for. A softer/angstier Dave but honestly, given this situation where he survives? I don't see classic Dave shining through, at least not until something kicks his ass into gear. The man is injured and more than a little lost. Also, I'll probably edit this later, it's 03:30 and apparently I have a knack for posting things when I should be asleep.

Masterlist | AO3

There was nothing but the open road ahead of him as he sat in the passenger seat, a permanent grimace affixed to his face. His pain ebbed and flowed but at least that meant he was alive. Alive with nothing but the open road ahead of him and his entire life behind him.

Dave really only had you to thank for that. A life debt for a life debt even if it meant he no longer had his life, not really at least. His girls were well over a thousand miles behind him, everything he’d known and loved, he’d likely never see again. You were the only thing Mac hadn’t counted on and even though Dave had lost religion a long time ago, he thanked whatever god or higher power out there that you had kept your head about you during the showdown.

He had been furious at first that you hadn’t tried to kill McCall, only stalled long enough to get him and yourself out of there under the cover of the storm. His anger had quickly dissipated though, you had made the right call, of course. He still had trouble seeing out of his eye, a concussion from being blown off of his feet and plenty of bruises complemented the odd cut or two Mac had managed to land. Things would have been a lot worse had you not intervened.

You glanced over at Dave, hunched over, curling himself into the passenger window. Dave fucking York. He had really gotten himself in it this time but you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame him. In this industry, shit decisions had to be made all the time and Lady Luck was rarely ever kind. People died, that was the business. What else was the married father of two supposed to do when he was cut loose? Assimilate? That kind of thing wasn’t for people like you or Dave York, not really. McCall was too high up on his high horse to get enough oxygen to his brain and too blinded by his own grief to see it.

Then again, you were definitely biased.

“How’s your pain level?”

You asked, and were met with a withering glare, his newly-crooked, hawkish nose only served to further accentuate the harshness in his eyes.

He hadn’t talked much during the already several day trip. Not that you needed the conversation, but you understood better than anyone he knew who was still alive aside from the man you were fleeing from, what this felt like. You hated how people romanticized it, leaving everything behind and starting over. It never worked that way. Your family and friends lived and died and you couldn’t be part of any of it. And now Dave, Dave had two daughters and a wife but they might as well be poison now. Poison to his mind, torture to think about. Poison to the touch if he ever went to see them again, because surely McCall would be watching them from afar, waiting.

The same thoughts seemed to be on his mind, from the corner of your eye you could see him slump further into the window, clutching a small photograph he had pulled from his wallet. For all that he was, former agent, mercenary, murderer, assassin, he was still a family man, a soft man at heart and going into hiding away from this family had just as much likelihood of killing him as McCall did.

“I’m not going to see them again am I?” Dave murmured as he stared down at the photo, thumb grazing over his daughters’ faces.

You opened your mouth then closed it again, contemplating giving him platitudes or the truth. He chuckled at your reaction, a hollow sound devoid of any humor.

“Spare me the bullshit.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened and you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know Dave. If McCall winds up dead then yeah, that’s an option. I haven’t been back to see my family but I don’t have the same… things anchoring me somewhere or drawing me back.”

Silently, he turned to resume watching the passing orange and brown landscape fly by.

It had been about another two hours since he last spoke and he had been so still and quiet, you thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Why’d you do it? Why are you doing this?”

His voice is gruffer, made thicker from the knot of emotion in his throat. It startles you out of your own reverie.

“Do what?”

“Why did you bother saving me? You could have made it out of there and been in another country by now. Fuck, you could have dumped me at a hospital anywhere along this godforsaken road and still be in another country by now.”

You frowned, somehow you had hoped his relative silence meant you would be able to get through this journey without delving into any sort of feelings.

“It crossed my mind, on both counts.”

He raised an eyebrow, not so much in surprise that you had thought about it, more so that you hadn’t gone through with it.

“I didn’t have any part in Susan’s death so McCall would have stopped hunting me eventually.”

You spared him a glance, he was staring at you intently, analyzing.

“Is this the part where you tell me you love me?”

You scoffed and looked at him incredulously then shook your head.

“No, it’s even more pathetic than that, Dave. You’re probably the closest thing to a friend I have and we’ve tried to kill each other before.”

That got a small laugh out of him, because really, what was more ridiculous in their line of work than friends?

Probably having a family. Dave grimaced as the thought echoed in his mind.

“We were the best at what we did.”

He said, with an air of nostalgia and you nodded in agreement.

“And the worst, somehow even with us each taking on contracts for the other, here we are, still living.”

The small smile faded from your lips at his silence and lack of a response. Your gaze fell on him again as he shrugged his mouth and sighed.

“Are we? Is it living if I’m leaving my life behind?”

This was not the Dave York you knew. Occasionally, you had seen the wry humor, and suave exterior give way to the side of him that accepted “New Hamster” as an answer instead of “New Hampshire” but not even that remained. The Dave next to you had all of those layers peeled back. He was raw and unsure.

You didn’t answer him for a few minutes, honestly there wasn’t much of anything you could say that wasn’t a load of shit. You were both too practical for pep talks. Moreover, it wasn’t a question you had even stopped to ask yourself. The answer and the journey to that answer was a dangerous one.

“I- …. It’s the best option you’ve got right now, Dave. It’s a pretty fucked situation, my advice? Take it one hour a time and if you can manage that, take it one day at a time.”

“An hour?” Dave shook his head and rubbed his stubbled chin with his hand. “All I’ve seen for hours is dirt and sand. While Mac is probably watching Carol and the girls like a fucking hawk.”

You pursed your lips, and eyed the upcoming sign detailing the available lodging and food at the upcoming exit.

“Well you’ll have the inside of our next motel room to stare at in another hour.”

Dave slipped back into silence and you simultaneously welcomed and detested it. Things were simpler without him getting all philosophical on you and contemplating what made living actually living. It hardly mattered though because he had already gone and planted that damned seed inside your brain.

You pulled up to a not entirely shitty motel and paid for the night before going back for Dave who was waiting in the car. The room wasn’t terrible and after a thorough check, you could at least confirm there weren’t any critters who would be keeping you company. At least there were two beds.

After a dinner of pizza from the diner down the road you had taken Dave on a detour to the gas station to get a burner phone. In your haste to put as much distance as possible between you and McCall, you hadn’t bothered to get him one earlier. Once that was finished you both headed back to your room to unwind.

Dave sat in one of the rickety chairs at the small table that seemed to be actively trying to shed it’s veneer layer. With a sigh, he went to work stripping and reassembling his pistol. It was calming, relaxing for him. All of the pieces had a purpose, an order, to be pulled apart then reassembled, very much unlike his life right now. Nothing had purpose or order and everything had been pulled apart, leaving him broken shards to piece back together.

Hours passed and by the look of him, you figured Dave’s fingers might have gone numb from the repetitive movements and his eyes were drooping, well his good eye was drooping more than normal since the one McCall had nearly managed to gouge was still a little worse for wear.

“Dave, get some sleep. You’re no good to me or yourself if you’re half asleep.”

You know he’s been fighting sleep for a while now, he does every night just like he fights the pain you’re sure he’s feeling but refuses to take anything for. For the first time since you two set off, you’re not annoyed by it. He’ll sleep soundly at least once he let’s exhaustion take him. All the better for what you have planned.

It wasn’t until 01:00 that Dave was finally asleep soundly enough that you felt you could get up without waking him. Quietly, you made for the table, using the flimsy pad of paper and pen there to write a note before you walked out the door and shut it behind you. Thankfully, the city you had stopped in was populated enough that rideshare services were available and in less time than you had figured, you were on your way to the airport.

Dave woke up and immediately knew something was off. It was too quiet and there was too much sun trying to peek through the curtains for it to be the usual time you both headed out for the day. He sat up quickly and grabbed his pistol, then looked around the room for any signs of danger until his eyes fell upon the pad of paper on the table. A sharp pain arched through his skull when he stood up, a remnant of his concussion. He took the note in hand and began to read:

Dave,

I figure, if I’m lucky, I’ve got 4 hours on you. If I’m really lucky, I’ve got 6. Anything more than that and I’m disappointed in you, Dave.

He looked up from the note at the digital clock on the nightstand, it read 07:30. A wry grin threatens to take shape on his lips. You’d be disappointed.

I’m not going to make this some sort of sappy letter. I don’t have time for that shit. You were right. It isn’t really living if you’ve left your life behind. Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who really has one to miss. The only way you get to go back to Carol, Molly and Alice is if McCall is out of the picture, so I’m going to give it a shot. I left you enough cash to pay the room through the week and then some. If you don’t hear from me after a week, call the number at the bottom of this note and tell him you’re cashing in a favor for me. He’ll help you out. Might even know someone else who can help with your family. I left you the car, keys are on my bed.

Good Luck.

Dave’s throat went dry and then he saw at least four shades of red before he finally calmed down to assess the situation. Then all at once, it was like ice had been poured in his veins and things began to shift into focus.

What the fuck was he doing?

This entire time he had been wallowing, perhaps well earned, but he should have been planning. He had let his grief for the loss of Susan, the storm of emotions he felt seeing Mac still alive and a simple job that had spun drastically out of control, completely cloud his judgement. He was just as well trained as Mac, but he had let his anger and emotions get the best of him on that watchtower, he couldn’t let that happen again.

Dave moved quickly and methodically as he collected everything he needed from the room and headed out to the car. He really shouldn’t drive with his eye being what it was but he only needed to get to the airport and he could make it that far at least.

He couldn’t let Mac kill you, like Ari, Reznik, and Kovac. Family.

Like hell if he was going to let the closest person he had to a friend get killed.

If anyone was going to kill you, it’d be him, just for you trying to pull off something as stupid as this.

He knew this was the best move though, Mac wouldn't be expecting an attack this soon this time, the attack wouldn't be in the middle of gale force winds on Mac's home turf. You... and he would have the upper hand this time.

Dave got through the airport with relative ease thanks to him having TSA pre-check, no one bothered to ask him about his eye which he did his best to hide with a baseball cap.

He sat down and waited for his flight to be called. Mentally, he began going through the disassembly and reassembly of the rifle he had with him at the watchtower to help focus himself and pass the time.

The PA system broke his concentration and alerted him that it was time to board. Dave was tense when he finally got to his seat and sat down. His jaw was set in concentration as he started to come up with a new battleplan and weighing his options. Yes, he was injured but he'd been through worse on missions and come out on top.

At least one person was going to die by the end of the week and he'd be damned if you and him weren't the last ones standing.

Thanks for reading, tagging a few people interested/who might be interested:

@wheresarizona @pascalsimp @beesting77 @boxdyeblonde @lackofhonor @kaybrownies @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence @elegantduckturtle @janebby @faithkeeper-81 @doin-stuff @danniburgh @pascalslittlebrat @mothandpidgeon @mouthymandalorianalso @phoenixhalliwell @kesskirata @starlightmornings @wyn-dixie

#Writer Wednesday #Dave York #Dave York x Reader #Dave York Pit #Dave York x you #my fics

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ohnojustimagine · 4 years ago

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Heated

The Shield/Reader, with a focus on Roman/Reader; 3500 words, smut smut smut

This is A/B/O, but kind of... just the bits of A/B/O I enjoy. So like, heats and lots of come but no knotting.

(And theoretically there is supposed to be a part 2 to this, but yeah, given my record on that, who knows.)

It's always embarrassed you, how irregular your heat cycle is. Other omegas seem to be able to predict the timing of their heats down to the day, marked safely on the calendar so they can plan ahead, but your own seem to ebb and flow, as if your cycle has a mind of its own.

And the worst of it is that your heats come on hard and fast, so fast that you've often ended up in awkward, sometimes even dangerous situations, unprotected by an alpha when in full heat, unable to isolate yourself.

Most of the alphas you've been with have hated it, dumping you when they can no longer handle the rollercoaster that is your cycle; always putting the blame squarely on you, too prideful to admit they're not up to the task of dealing with it.

But Roman, Seth and Dean are different. They seem to take it all in stride, always managing to somehow get you through your heat even if the timing isn't ideal, finding ways to work around any awkwardness. And the care and understanding they show has meant you've bonded with all three of them on a level that's deeper than you would have ever imagined you're capable of.

Tonight you're in the Shield's private locker room as they gear up ready for a six man tag match, and you haven't felt quite right all day, but you've been so busy that you haven't paid much attention, vaguely assuming it's simply exhaustion.

But then suddenly you start to feel dizzy, faint enough that you have to sit down, your skin tingling hot, a light buzzing sound in your ears, as if the air of the room is vibrating around you.

"Oh, god," you say, closing your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying not to start crying, because the timing couldn't be worse, and you hate this about yourself, that you can't control it in any way.

"What's wrong, baby?" Roman asks you, frowning. He takes a step towards you, and you hear him breathe in, the change in your scent already obvious. "Ohhh," he says. "Another heat."

"Again?" Seth says, incredulous, and though he doesn't exactly sound displeased Roman still shoots him a sharp look, shushing him.

"It's okay," he tells you, sitting down next to you, wrapping one big arm around you, kissing the top of your head.

"But it's nearly time for your match," you say, utterly miserable.

"I know," Roman replies, rubbing your arm. "But it'll be okay, I promise."

"We got time to fuck her before we go out?" Dean asks, sounding eager.

"No." Roman shakes his head. "We'll need all our energy for the match." He strokes your hair, looking down at your affectionately. "You know you always drain us, baby, with how bad you need it."

"I'm so sorry, I..." You breathe in, because you're already struggling to concentrate, the ache inside you growing into an acutely insistent throb of need, wetness gathering between your legs. "I don't think I can be by myself. Not here." WWE is a hotbed of the most alpha of alphas, and you know that once anyone catches your scent, they'll be after you, unable to resist the lure of your heat.

"We'll lock the door," says Roman.

"You know we always make sure we have a secure room, just in case," Seth chimes in.

"You promise?" you ask anxiously.

"We promise, baby," Roman tells you.

"Wouldn't hurt to have a little extra insurance policy, though?" Dean suggests, and Roman nods, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as he rises to his feet. He rummages through his bag, pulling out the chastity belt they'll often use on you when you're in heat. There's a small dildo attachment on the crotch of it, and you stand up, breathing in as you look at it.

Your clothes feel too hot and constricting on your body, like they're choking you, and you pull them off impatiently, not caring how you look, your t-shirt nearly getting stuck over your head, ignoring the sound of the zipper on your skirt ripping open, tossing it aside and stepping out of your panties.

You move your feet wider, biting down on the moan rising up in your throat as Roman walks around you, bending lower to guide the dildo inside you, getting it as deep as possible. And though it feels good, it's nowhere near big enough, you think, fretting a little as he fastens the belt into place, adjusting the straps, making sure you're comfortable. You exhale as the padlock on the front clicks into place, and Roman tugs on it, just to be sure.

The key is on a string that he loops around his neck, tucking it under his vest, out of sight.

"All safely locked away," he tells you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, and you whine as he pulls away, trying to hold onto him, but he peels you off him with a kindly smile.

"You good to go?" he asks Seth and Dean, who both nod.

"We're gonna be thinking about you," Seth tells you. "The whole time. Gonna be real hot to fuck you by the time we get back."

Dean inhales a deep breath, staring at you, lust in his eyes. "You sure we don't have time?" he asks, again. "Just a quickie to tide us over?"

"No," Roman replies firmly. "Got to do it right for her, you know that."

Dean shrugs, like he doesn't agree, but he doesn't say anything further, and Roman looks at you. "We'll be back as soon as we can," he assures you. "You just sit tight."

You nod, unable to even speak by now, watching them leave, closing the door behind them.

You note that Roman has locked it from both sides, and you know it's not that they don't trust you, it's just to make sure, but it's still humiliating, that you have to be contained like this, even if it is for your own good.

You throw yourself down on the couch, hand over your eyes, trying to breathe through it, need building inside you until you feel like you might explode, and you don't know how you're going to hold on.

You find a cloth, running it under the cold tap at the sink in the corner of the room and then folding it in half, pressing it to your forehead, dabbing it on your throat, your skin so hot it's almost burning, the coolness barely registering. You sigh, tossing the cloth aside, and pace up and down the room for a while, back and forth, counting your steps, but that only makes it worse, the dildo shifting inside you with every step. Your pussy is dripping wet, slick seeping out the sides of the belt, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily around the dildo, spasming helplessly. It's too small, you think, barely enough to fill you, and it's no good, anyway, because what you're craving inside you is come, alpha come, the only thing that can bring you even the slightest relief when you're in heat.

Your breasts are already starting to swell, firm when you touch them, your nipples taut and hard, and you lick your fingers, teasing the tight peaks, pinching them. You moan, too loud, you know, but you don't care, straddling the arm of the couch, rubbing yourself on it almost mindlessly, but you can't feel anything, the metal of the belt thick enough not to allow you any sensation. You groan in frustration, anger flaring inside you, childish resentment at the fact that your alphas aren't here to take care of you, and the logical part of your brain might know that's unreasonable, but your heat is taking over, and you can't think.

But then, out of nowhere, there's a sharp knock on the door and you jump up, guilty. Your heart races as you stand there, silent, watching as the door handle rattles, but the lock holds.

"Pretty baby," someone croons from outside in a sing-song voice. "I can smell you in there, sweet little omega all alone." You hear them suck in a deep breath, then exhale. "That's a nice heat you got going there, why don't you open the door for me, little one, and I'll give you what you need."

You stay frozen in place, barely daring to breathe, and the handle again rattles, this time with more force. You flinch as the surface of the door resounds with a violent kick, pressing your hand tight over your mouth so you don't gasp aloud, trembling with fear.

There's silence for a minute, and you dare to creep closer to the door, tiptoeing across the carpet, holding your breath. And you can hear something, rhythmic, small wet noises, and then there's a grunt, the sound of something spattering onto the door.

It drips down onto the floor, and you can smell it, and though it's not the same, not from your alphas, you're desperate enough that you let out a broken whine.

A laugh echoes from outside, and then the voice says, "Enjoy that, omega, and if you ever want a real alpha you can come find me anytime."

Footsteps echo away, and you back up into the furthest corner of the room, sinking down onto the floor, bending your knees up to your chest, tears running hot down your cheeks. You sob, quietly, and you don't know how much time passes, lost in your own private misery, but finally the door opens, and you look up, vision still blurred by tears.

Dean, Seth and Roman are standing there, staring at the door. "Gross," Dean comments.

"Seems like someone had themselves some fun," Seth says, shaking his head.

"Doesn't matter," Roman states. "As long as they stayed out." He walks towards you, asking, "You okay?" And you shake your head, hiccuping out one last sob. "Oh, baby," Roman says, giving you a concerned smile. "You're really not okay, are you?" He takes your hand, pulling you up to your feet.

"C'mon, man," Dean says, grabbing his crotch, rubbing at it. "Get that fucking belt off of her and I'll make her feel better than okay."

"Patience," Roman tells him, pulling the key out from under his vest.

"Yeah, fuck patience," Dean snaps back. "And just so you know, I'm going first."

"Why does he get to go first?" Seth complains.

"It doesn't matter who goes first," Roman says, calmly. "As long as we give her what she needs."

He carefully unlocks the belt, unfastening the straps, lifting it away from your body. You mewl at the feet of the dildo slipping out of your pussy, the thick scent of your heat suddenly filling the room, potent and undeniable. And all three of your alphas practically growl in desire, their spines straightening, standing tall and dominant, predatory instincts awakened, eyes flashing dark, but it's Dean that moves first, as promised, grabbing you. He drags you over to the table at the side of the room, shoving you down onto it face first, his hand tight on the back of your neck, your hips jammed up against the edge, digging into you. You feel him fumble with his pants, barely able to wait, wailing in relief as his cock sinks into you, fucking you, pumping hard.

"Oh, fuck," he mutters. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

You moan, trying to push your hips back into him, pussy tightening rhythmically around him, keeping time with his thrusts, the need of your heat as if trying to pull his orgasm out of him, hungry for his come.

And it doesn't take long for him to finish, letting out a guttural, bitten-off moan as he comes, shooting thick and hot inside you, spurt after spurt, and it feels so good, but it's not enough, barely beginning to slake the thirst of your heat.

He pulls out of you, and Seth's right there, roughly flipping you over onto your back. He lifts up your legs, your ankles resting on his shoulders as he plows his cock into you, deep and hard and fast, holding on to your legs, his teeth gritted, face twisted up in desire.

His hips piston, thrusting with enough violence that you have to hold on to the edges of the table, your head rolling back, chest arching up towards him, your body begging for what you need.

And you see him close his eyes, tensing as his orgasm hits him, his cock releasing inside you, alpha come filling you yet again, but it only seems to make you want more.

His cock slips out of you, and you slide down onto the floor, legs so weak you doubt they could hold you, but Roman's sitting on the couch, waiting, and he beckons to you. "Come here, my sweet girl," he says, and you crawl over to him, letting him help you up into his lap, facing him, sitting astride his thighs. His hands are on your waist, pulling you up onto your knees, closer to him so your breasts are right in his face, and he nuzzles at them, humming in delight.

They're even more swollen now, taut and tender as he kisses your skin, licking, sucking on the hard peaks of your nipples, so sensitive it's almost unbearable.

It forever astonishes you that he can take his time with you like this when you're in heat, because the man has self-control like no alpha you've ever known, but Roman's special, always worth the wait even if right now you're too impatient to think about anything but his cock.

He gets one hand between your legs, pushing his palm firm up against the fullness of your clit, and you rut yourself on it, your hips working, feeling Seth and Dean's come leaking slowly out of you, gasping as Roman's teeth sink into the flesh of your breast, biting down hard enough to mark you.

You whine as he removes his hand, your hips still moving helplessly even though all that's there now is now empty air, and he kisses your mouth, tongue teasing frustratingly light over your lips.

"Yeah, you want Daddy's cock, don't you?" he murmurs. "Need more of that alpha come."

You nod at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and he smiles at you, hauling you up off his lap.

He sets you down on the floor, on your knees, turning you around so you're facing the couch, arms braced on the edge of the seat in front of you, and you arch your spine, your knees apart, pussy wet and hungry for him.

You pant, barely able to control your breathing you're so dizzy with anticipation, but then Roman slides into you, cock thick and slow, filling you up until you feel like you can't take anymore, and when he's as deep as he'll go, bottomed out inside you, he stops, not moving.

You're whining with every exhale, shaking all over, but Roman can't be rushed.

"Yeah," he says, softly. "So tight, aren't you?" He shifts himself slightly, and you moan at the feel of it. "Never had an omega like you, baby girl, full in heat but so hot and tight on my cock." He lets out a breathless, careless laugh, and you feel tears burning hot in your eyes, your whole being consumed with nothing but want. "Fuck you all night and that sweet pussy will still try and milk me for more."

You squirm, trying to move yourself on him, but he's ruthlessly unyielding, a solid wall behind you.

"You need to let go," he orders, gently yet firmly, "and let me take care of you." He rests one hand in the curve of your back, just above your ass, and you focus on your breath, inhaling and then exhaling, knowing that you have to stop fighting it, that you need to surrender, give yourself and your heat over to him, submit to the will of a true alpha.

You feel your body start to relax, trusting him, and it's only then that he starts to fuck you, slowly at first, but building in intensity and speed until he's pounding into you, holding onto your hips, your pussy so wet with slick that the noise of it seems to fill the room like something obscene.

Roman leans forward, hands either side of yours on the edge of the couch, his body over yours, broad chest pressed to your back. You feel as if you're being consumed by him, fucked until you're split wide open, nothing but a vessel for this need and when he finally comes it's like a rush, ecstasy and relief all at once, because this is what you've been craving, and you don't want it to ever stop, his cock pumping into you until you're so high you're not sure you'll ever come down from it.

But then at last he's done, pulling out of you, and you slump down, sitting on your heels on the floor, swaying slightly, the room feeling as if it's moving slowly around you. And Dean's already hard again, right there with his cock in your face. He gets one hand on your jaw, forcing your mouth open, pushing himself in past your lips, thrusting. And you're way too far gone to do anything but let him take what he needs, your heat meaning your throat is just as open as your pussy, and he goes deep, over and over until he's coming so hard that you struggle to keep up. You swallow as much as you can, lapping up the taste, the rest dripping warm down your chin.

He backs off, and you lean against the couch, exhausted, barely able to stay upright. And you can't even imagine the sight you must make, breathing hard, sweating, come and spit all over your face but Roman, Seth and Dean only gaze at you like you're the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.

"You want her again?" Roman asks Seth, who shakes his head.

"Nah, I'll wait," he says. "We should get on the road."

"Yeah, it's getting late," Dean agrees, and they begin to pack up their bags.

You sit quietly, watching, only standing up when Roman brings one of his hoodies over to you, helping you put it on. He knows it's uncomfortable for you to wear too many clothes when you're in heat, but you need to be covered, and the hoodie is soft, comfortingly imbued with his scent, big enough that it reaches mid-thigh on your smaller frame.

But Seth looks at you, frowning. "Should we clean her up a little first?" he asks. "Can we get her out of here like this?"

"She's fine," Roman replies, no trace of doubt in his voice.

"Everyone's gonna to be able to smell her," says Dean, sounding unsure. "I mean, every alpha in the place will be after her."

Seth smirks, laughing. "Might be fun to stir up some trouble with the opposition, boys."

"They know their place," Roman says. "She's ours." But then he frowns to himself. "Still," he adds, "better put this back on her." He picks up the chastity belt, taking off the dildo attachment, and then he seems to think for a moment before going through one of his bags, producing a small, remote-controlled vibe.

And you whimper in discomforted anticipation, because you know how that's going to feel inside you, your pussy already so overstimulated that it will be way too much for you to deal with.

"Just for on the ride, baby girl," Roman tells you. "Got to keep you nice and hot for us."

You shake your head no, pouting in distress.

"Hey," Roman says, firmly. "You need to trust us." He cradles your face in one hand, his thumb stroking tender across your cheek. "Don't we always take care of you?"

And you nod, biting your lip, knowing you need to accept his authority.

"Hold her," he directs Seth, who stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You squirm a little, whining in protest, but Roman pays no attention, pushing the vibe into your pussy. It slips in easily with how wet you are, nestling up against your walls, and you bite down on your bottom lip, breathing out, because even the presence of it inside you is reigniting the intensity of your heat, urges beginning to return in full force.

"Don't worry," Roman says with a smile, clearly observing your reaction, "we won't turn it on yet."

You shift restlessly as he and Seth help you into the chastity belt, fastening it, locking it tightly, securing you for no one's use but theirs, under their protection.

You breathe out as Roman drops a brief kiss on your lips before draping one arm protectively over your shoulders.

"Ready, boys?" he asks.

"Ready," Seth agrees.

"Always," Dean says.

"Then let's go," says Roman, and he opens the door.

#ohnojustwrites #wwe imagine #roman reigns #the shield #roman reigns imagine #the shield imagine #dean ambrose imagine #seth rollins imagine

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slowly-writing · 4 years ago

Text

Almost Lost You

Jennifer Jareau x Reader

Word count: 2.3K

Requested by: n/a

Warnings: canon typical violence

This case was stumping the entire team. The dump sites had seemingly no correlation, so Ried’s geographical profile was out the window. The MO was all over the place which made it hard to nail down a profile on the unsub. The only thing that proved these murders were connected was the flowers the unsub was leaving in the victim’s hand, and even with that you were beginning to question it all.

“Does anyone else feel like their brain is melting?” JJ groans and you feel inclined to agree.

“Your brain can’t actually melt. You could boil the water in your brain but the fatty tissues that make up the majority of it are harder to break down,” Spencer says and you smile, at least his facts are always consistent.

“That’s not what she means, Spence. It’s a metaphor. She means she’s tired of getting nowhere with the case and she feels like all the work is physically hurting her,” you explain and he nods in understanding, looking at JJ whose head is now laying on the table of the conference room the three of you have hunkered down in.

“Did you know it’s actually proven that fresh air can increase productivity and reduce stress?” Spencer pipes up again and you chuckle as you rise from your seat, grabbing JJ’s shoulders and coaxing her up.

“Good call doc. I think I’m gonna take her outside for a bit before she puts that brain melting theory to the test. You take a break too, alright? Even geniuses have a breaking point,” you wait until he agrees to stop for a bit to lead JJ outside.

“It just feels so messy. Like there’s no way to get through it all,” JJ has tears in her eyes as she looks up at you and your heart breaks at her obvious frustration. You often wonder how JJ got into a field like this, so painful and gruesome. She has such a tender heart, if you had met her outside of work you would’ve guessed she was a teacher, maybe a social worker, but certainly not a profiler whose job was to hunt down some of the worst people the world had to offer.

“I know it feels like this will never end, but it will. I promise it will, because we’re not going anywhere until we catch this creep. Hotch and Emily are interviewing the victim’s families again as we speak and Morgan and Rossi are at the crime scenes. They will all get us some more to work on and eventually we’ll nail this guy.”

“You promise?” JJ’s voice is soft and you can’t resist the urge to pull her into your arms, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I do. Are you ready to go back in?” JJ nods and you pull away, “then let’s go crack this case.”

xxxxx

“Rose Allen, Jessica Phillips, and Sara Parker have been found dead. Now I don’t know about you guys but I sure as hell don’t want a fourth name added to that list,” Morgan snaps, slamming his hand on the table. You all look up from your notes at the outburst, and none of you blame him. JJ grabs your hand under the table and it calms you both as tensions rise in the room.

“What do you think we’re doing here? None of us want this to go on. We’re trying our best,” Emily knuckles are turning white as she clenches her first.

“Okay let’s all calm down. If we all put our head together then we can crack this. So, the women disappear from their daily routines, they are gone for a week before being found in various locations with different causes of death. What does that tell us?” Hotch starts the discussion and everyone settles in to work.

“He’s obviously stalking them. He knows their routines and is able to grab them without anybody seeing,” Rossi is the first to join in and you nod along.

“And the manner of the killing isn’t important to him, as long as they die. With victim number one we have strangulation, then stabbing, and last dehydration. He doesn’t care how they die as long as he can see them suffer,” your brow is furrowed as you think out loud.

“The flowers obviously mean a lot to him, right? It’s the only consistency,” Emily jumps in and everyone voices their agreement.

“They’re yellow roses. Those symbolize friendship, maybe these women told him they just wanted to be friends?” JJ says and you think she’s onto something until Spencer speaks up.

“Historically yellow roses have a different meaning. Now they are known to symbolize friendship but they actually used to stand for infidelity or unfaithfulness. He could’ve had a childhood trauma involving an unfaithful individual that still haunts him,” Hotch perks up as Reid finishes.

“Rose and Jessica’s family members said they were having relationship troubles, Sara’s family didn’t have much to say, but with how hostile her fiancé was, I’d bet my career that their relationship was rocky,” the analysis makes sense, at least it’s a start.

“Okay, so we have an unsub targeting people whose relationships are failing. Considering he targeted the girls I’d guess they were the ones who were unfaithful, who would know if they were?” Rossi asks and you all think through the list.

“If it was me I’d only tell my closest friends,” you say and try not to wince at the way JJ’s head snaps to face you. “I’m speaking hypothetically of course. I’ve never cheated so I don’t know what it’s like in that situation. I can only make an educated guess on the thoughts and feelings the victims were having in the moment,” you stare ahead as you say it, nobody knows you and JJ are together, and this is not how you want them to find out. “That was a poor choice of words,” you say and Emily raises an eyebrow at you.

“Ignoring y/n’s over explanation of how she’s never cheated on anyone,” Emily says slowly and you avoid eye contact. “None of these women shared friends. Garcia couldn’t even find evidence that they knew each other, let alone had the same confidants.”

“When Will and I went through all that we went to a relationship counselor. Is it possible they saw the same one?” JJ asks and Garcia pipes up for the first time.

“I can have that answer in just a few moments,” the sound of a keyboard can be heard through the computer, “aha! According to their credit card records they all saw Dr. Damien who is a well renowned relationship counselor in the area. She was, however, out of state for a conference when Rose and Jessica’s bodies were found and did not return until after Sara was reported missing.”

“It could still be someone in her office. Receptionist, coworker, hell even a janitor,” Morgan seems as desperate as you all feel.

“I have a receptionist who was working during all three intake appointments, Jacob Daniels and-oh gosh-At age 8 his father murdered his mother, in the trial he claimed it was because she was cheating with the neighbor who denied the allegations. Regardless there was no family and Jacob bounced around the foster system until he aged out five years ago. Three months ago he landed a job in Dr. Damien’s office and within a month and a half the first murder was commited,” Garcia relays the information, her eyes wide.

“That would be the stressor. Hearing about the failing relationships was too much for Daniels and he snapped. Garcia, do you have an address?” Hotch asks as you all stand, grabbing your gear.

“Like you even have to ask. Be safe my lovelies,” Garcia tells you all as she ends the call.

xxxxx

“Jacob Daniels FBI! Open up!” Hotch yells as he bangs on the door. You hear a crash inside and Morgan takes that as his cue to kick open the door. You’re the first inside and Daniels freezes when he sees the guns trained on him. He may be damaged, but he knows he can’t outrun a bullet. Instead he grabs a knife and points it towards you.

“Stay back!” He yells and you raise your hands, holstering your gun before speaking.

“I just want to talk, Jacob. Can we do that?” you ask and you can see him shaking as he looks between you, Morgan, Hotch, and Ried. Everyone else is still en route.

“They needed to die,” Jacob starts and you blink in surprise as he jumps straight into it.

“Why?” he focuses more on you, relaxing despite the three guns still pointed at him. You inch forward as he begins to talk.

“They didn’t know how to love. No woman knows how to love!” He yells.

“Now that’s not a fair statement, plenty of women know what love is,” you say and you can hear the other team calling their ETA through the comms, but you’re hoping to have this wrapped up before the three minutes it will take them to get here are up.

“Do you? Know how to love? Do you have someone?” Jacob’s voice is soft, almost a whisper as he desperately tries to prove himself wrong. You’re only a few feet away now, and he’s slowly lowering the knife. If you can just get a few inches closer you can grab it.

“I do. She is the most important person in my life.” Out of the corner of your eye you can see the confusion on your team’s faces but you don’t have time to focus on them right now. “I can’t tell you why someone would cheat on the love of their life, but I can tell you I never would. A few bad people isn’t a reason to give up on love or life. They hurt people, but they didn’t hurt you Jacob,” his head snaps up and you quickly realize that was the wrong thing to say. He lunges for you and before anyone can get a shot off he has your back pressed to his chest and his knife to your throat.

“Woah calm down man!” Morgan yells, his panic alerting the rest of the team that this just went south.

“Let her go, Jacob,” Hotch’s words inform the team that he has you, the only female in the room. He doesn’t waver though, ever the calm one in the storm. You can hear the tires of the other SUV squealing to a stop outside. Lucky for you so can Daniels and you use his distraction to slam your eyebrow into his ribs. His grip on you loosens and you’re able to take him down. Morgan takes over, cuffing him as you feel a body slam into yours. JJ throws her arms around your neck and you wrap one arm around her waist, the other cradling her head as you let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m okay,” you tell her and she lets out a shaky breath before pulling away from you completely.

“You idiot!” she yells slapping your shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?” your hand goes to the place she just smacked, though it didn't hurt much.

“Why would you get so close to him! He could’ve killed you!” She slaps your other shoulder and you groan.

“But he didn’t. I thought I could disarm him, but it's okay now. So can we just agree it was a dumb move and stop hitting me please?” you ask and JJ pulls you into a hug again. You wanna laugh at her conflicting emotions, but you know how scared she is.

“I almost lost you,” she whispers and you sigh.

“You didn’t. I know it was scary, but I’m okay.”

“I could hear the whole thing.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise that I’m okay. You didn’t lose me,” you tell her and she nods, pulling away again. The bubble the two of you have been in is popped as you both turn to see the whole team staring at you, Morgan apparently having passed Daniels off to local officers to make sure you were okay.

“How long has this been going on?” Morgan asks and you look to JJ.

“Six months?” you ask her and she nods. You turn back to the team and nod, “yeah, six months.”

“How did we not notice?” Rossi asks and you laugh.

“I was thinking the same thing. Some profilers you are,” JJ teases them but they all seem to be in too much shock to register it.

“So when you went on that rant about not cheating…” Emily trails off and you roll your eyes.

“Did seriously none of you notice how she was looking at me? I thought I was gonna be the next murder victim!” They all laugh and JJ looks at you.

“You ever cheat on me and you will be,” she says simply with her arm wrapped around your waist and a smile on her face.

“How do you say such aggressive things but look so cute doing it?” you ask, wrapping your arm around her shoulder and placing a kiss on the top of her head. “But I would never cheat on you, my love. I’d have to be an idiot to risk losing you. There’s nobody in the world I’d rather be with.”

“As cute as this is, I’m ready to get out of here,” Morgan teases and you roll your eyes.

“Let’s finish up here and we can talk more on the way home,” Hotch says and you all nod.

“And we know Garcia is gonna want all the details, I wouldn’t mind them either, so drinks when we get back?” Emily offers and you agree.

“Sounds like a plan.”

tag list: (let me know if you want to be added or taken off)

@rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @im-salt-but-not-salty @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff

Criminal Minds tag list: @reidingandwriting

#jj x reader #jj criminal minds #jj fanfic #jj fanfiction #jj fic #jj reader insert #Jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau #Jennifer jareau x female!reader #Jennifer Jareau fanfic #Jennifer jareau reader insert #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds fanfic #almost lost you

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hyperpsychomaniac · 3 years ago

Text

The Woodchuck Leader Assessment - Chapter 2

DT17 Fanfiction

Summary: When Launchpad’s ability to supervise children is called into question, Dewey tags along on a Junior Woodchuck trip to support his best friend.

Chapter 1

Also cross-posted on fanfiction.net.

***

Launchpad gulped at the lump which had lodged in his throat. "What, what are you doing back in the Woodchucks? You…" Got kicked out. Because of me.

Mr Russell smiled and Launchpad momentarily wondered if he'd, as often happened, accidentally spoken that last part of his thought out loud. "You can't hold the mistakes of a man's past against him forever, Launchpad. The Woodchucks are pretty fair in that regard. Yeah, I'm back. But you're an adult now. You can call me Jack, you know."

Launchpad turned to face the bus. His throat felt dry. "Ah, kids. This is … Jack. He… he used to be my Junior Woodchuck leader. "

"Jack to you…" Jack waved a paw dismissively in Launchpad's direction.

Launchpad flinched back and the metal back of the driver's seat banged into his spine.

"…but that's still Mr Russell to you kids," he continued, as he turned to address the bus. "I'm afraid I'm a little old school, but don't worry," and he threw this back in Launchpad's direction. "Not as much as I used to be. And it's nothing you kids need to worry about. After all, I'm only here to assess Launchpad. He can lead you to his heart's content, without any input from me, and, well… I guess the whole point of this is to see how that pans out."

"I think you'll find our Woodchuck leader more than capable," said Violet confidently.

"Yeah, go LP!" said Huey, and the rest of the Woodchucks joined in.

Dewey was the last to pick up on the cue. His heartfelt: "Yeeeeaah LP..." carried on a good few seconds longer than the rest of the bus.

The cheers of his Woodchucks, and his best friend, broke through the swirling thoughts that clamored for attention in his head. His Woodchucks had his back. The last time he'd seen Mr Russell, sure it was something he didn't want to remember, and hadn't thought about in years, but, no, he would focus on the assessment.

Mr Russell was shorter than he remembered too. Well, of course, because he had grown! And maybe he wouldn't be so scary now he was an adult. Launchpad squared his shoulders. "Alright. Er, first we grab the gear and hike to the camping spot."

Doofus groaned loudly.

"A short hike," Launchpad clarified, and felt his chest swell as he launched into the easy familiarity of directing his Woodchucks in a task he'd instructed dozens of times. "Woodchucks, start unpacking the camping gear. Make sure you help our potential new recruits. I need to talk to… Mr Russell."

Violet and Huey shuffled everyone off, taking more care than they normally did that everyone exited in an orderly manner. Mr Russell waited until the last kid filed off. Launchpad slipped off past him, behind the kids. Somehow, he felt a little more confident facing the man who had made almost a year of his time as a Junior Woodchuck an absolute hell outside in the fresh air.

Mr Russell followed him down, and Launchpad waited until he was out before bursting out: ""Look, Mr Russell, I don't understand…" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt his beak flush. You didn't admit you didn't understand something to Mr Russell! You knew you'd get chewed out for it, and… he wasn't a kid anymore. "I don't understand why they would've picked you to assess me. Or that you would've agreed surely you don't want to see me, or…" The realisation slowly sunk into his brain. "Wait, is that why you're here? You had to resign because of me, and…"

Mr Russell held up a paw. It was hardly the gruff reprimand Launchpad remembered whenever he'd questioning him as a child, and it gave him pause. "Launchpad, I'm not here for payback. The Woodchucks won't hold my past failures against me, well, I'm not going to hold yours against you either. The last time we saw each other? That whole…. mess is not relevant. And I don't think either of us wants to think about it."

"Mess?" Launchpad said thinly. That's what he chose to call it?

"Yes, I rejoined the Woodchucks a few years ago. Heard you were still around, but I thought it best I stay out of your way. But since then I've heard there've been a number of complaints about you. Not that I find that surprising. You were always headstrong and foolhardy and you just didn't know when to quit. Everything is so damn slack these days, they practically hand badges out like candy, which I can deal with. But when it comes to the safety of the kids, that's another matter. I fully intend to give you a fair go, but I'm not giving any handouts. There's no failure badges for this one. If I don't think you can keep these kids safe, that's what I'm putting in my report. And then you're out of here."

***

Down at the campsite, the more senior Woodchucks had already started helping the new kids set up their tents. Violet must have begun implementing her protocols, and Launchpad didn't need to know exactly what those were to be grateful. He breathed deep the forest air, and huffed it out with a sigh of relief. The sky was clear, and he could hear the roar of the river a short distance down from the camp. "Come on, LP. Just do what you always do. Be a good Woodchuck leader! Your kids know you are, and Mr Russell will see that and…" He gulped. But just like every other time he'd had an assessor following him about, he couldn't let him be a distraction. He had to concentrate on the kids and making this trip as fun for them as possible, whatever his own fears might be.

"Hey, Launchpad," said Dewey with an enthusiastic wave. "Can you help me set up my tent?"

Launchpad frowned. Dewey knew how to set up a tent. Violet and Huey had the other kids all under control though, so he wandered over to his friend. "Sure. What do you need help wi…"

Dewey grabbed Launchpad by the collar and dragged him down to his level, then shoved a tent pole in his face. "Where does this go?" he said loudly, then dropped his voice. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah… why…"

"You went white as a sheet when Mr Russell came onto the bus. Was he that bad? I mean, I've had some pretty annoying teachers…"

"He wasn't annoying. He…" Mr Russell wandered about, hands clasped behind his back, watching the Woodchucks put up their tents. And not lifting a finger to help, which hardly surprised Launchpad. His eyes drilled into their backs as he watched every little thing they did. At least he wasn't here to judge them, and the kids were all so engrossed talking to each other and with the task they hardly seemed to notice. "He just didn't think I was a very good Woodchuck, okay? What if he doesn't think I'm a good leader either?"

"LP, look at these nerds. They know what their doing. And you taught them all of that."

"I'm not sure I had that much to do with it. I just give them an activity and they all seem to pick it up really quick. Other than that, I just make sure we bring enough food and water, and, you know, distract angry mother bears."

Dewey squeezed his shoulder. "Hey, you're good at this, LP. You'll be fine."

Launchpad smiled faintly. "Thanks. Thanks for coming too. You're right, I…" But it wasn't just the memory of how Mr Russell had treated him as a kid. It was the last time they'd seen each other… and Mr Russell had said that was the past, but that still didn't stop the memory stirring. Dewey, most of his Woodchucks actually, they would be the same age as Calvin had been. And that thought brought an ache to Launchpad's chest.

"Thanks LP, of course it goes here," Dewey screamed into his ear, and rammed the tent pole into its slot.

Mr Russel appeared at his shoulder. "Well, this one seems to get it. Most of your Woodchuck's seem to know what they're doing actually."

"Are you surprised?" Launchpad said as he got to his feet. It was getting easier to talk to his old leader like an adult, but being crouched down at kid level was not helping.

Mr Russell would've snapped at him for talking to him like that. Had, on more than one occasion, which somehow coincided with him getting stuck with the worst chores. LP couldn't be sure if it was because he'd grown up, or maybe Mr Russell had mellowed, because the old dog just raised an eyebrow. "A little." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "This one though. Not cut out for this."

Doofus Drake sat in the middle of his unfurled tent. He'd dragged it around and over his head, so only his pouting face stuck out.

Huey stalked past. "I tried showing him. He won't listen to me." He went over to help one of the other kids.

"You know he's new, right?" said Launchpad.

Mr Russel lowered his brows, that same condescending look Launchpad remembered. "Yeah, Launchpad. I know. That's why he's not wearing a uniform."

"I meant… how do you know when he's barely had a chance to try or…"

Someone let out a faint shriek, and a tent toppled over. Mr Russell folded his arms and snorted out a laugh. And just stood there.

"Maybe you could help Doofus?" One good thing had always come of having the assessor along for a trip: Launchpad didn't need to take care of up to a dozen kids all by himself. Ever since the other leaders had left they'd been unable find replacements, and it wasn't just because of how Launchpad drove the bus. No one seemed interested. And that's what made the assessments so stressful. It would suck if an assessor finally failed him, and he could no longer give back to the organisation that had helped him so much as a kid. But it would suck even more if the kids here didn't have Woodchucks at all because their branch got shut down.

At least the other assessors had slipped into leader mode themselves, and actually helped. But Mr Russell just stood there and raised an eyebrow. "Oh no. this is your show, son. Like I said, I don't give handouts."

The toppled tent righted itself as the unfortunate girl finally found her way out of the heap of canvas.

"We've got this, Launchpad," said Huey as both he and Violet and even some of the other new kids who had already got their tents up went over to help.

Launchpad gritted his teeth. Handouts. What the hell did he think his job as Woodchuck leader had been anyway?

And that just left Doofus. Launchpad went over to the boy, Mr Russell trailing behind him. He picked up a tent pole. "You know, I think you're supposed to use this to hold up the tent. Not your head."

"I want to go home!" Doofus disappeared underneath the canvas.

Mr Russell huffed. "Kids these days are just so damn soft. Even you weren't this bad. I told you he wasn't cut out for it."

"Mr Russell, will you just…"

Mr Russell squared his shoulders. "Yeah?"

Launchpad gulped. "Nothing." He poked the pole into a gap in the canvas and lifted it. Forget the assessment. Forget Mr Russell. Forget the memories he hadn't thought about in years, churning up in his gut. If he'd been here on his own, he'd be helping this kid. Because despite the attitude, he'd seen that brief moment of tears in his eyes. He wouldn't be the first kid who'd been sent by his parents when he didn't want to go and that certainly didn't mean he 'wasn't cut out for it'. Or that his parents shouldn't have sent him. He didn't need some overbearing leader, which was something Mr Russell would never understand. He just needed a friend.

"There we go," Launchpad crawled inside and propped up the canvas with the pole. "We're half done now."

Doofus glared at him from other corner of the tent. "That's not where the pole goes."

"So you do know how to build a tent?"

"It's not building! I can figure it out. But I shouldn't have to! I have… PEOPLE… to do these things for me."

"Yeah, but not always."

"What?"

"What about when you don't have people?"

"You can put the tent up for me!" Doofus folded his arms with a huff.

Launchpad winced. "Actually," he said, lowering his voice. "This is one of the new tents. I haven't figured out how to do this one yet. I was going to get Violet to show me."

Doofus' jaw dropped. "But, who's going to put up my tent? I don't want to sleep out here in the rain."

"Pft. It's not going to rain. Violet can help you."

"I…" Doofus slumped down, arms folded over his knees. "I already told her she was stinky and had weird hair; I don't think she'll help me."

"Well, at least its not going to rain?"

"I…" Doofus threw back his head. "Urgh! Give me that." He snatched back the pole, and rammed it into a corner of the tent, threading it through a canvas sleeve in the tent's side. He snatched up a second and did the same.

Launchpad watched him work. "Huh… that makes sense." He grabbed the last pole and copied what Doofus had done, shoving it into the remaining canvas sleeve. The whole tent popped out, crisp and straight and complete.

Doofus glared at him. "You said you wouldn't help!"

"I said I didn't know how to put it up yet. There you see? That was easy. " They slipped out of the tent flap.

Doofus turned back and looked at his tent. "I… built a tent?"

"Yeah. Look at that. At least now you know you can do it if you ever don't have… people."

Doofus eyed him warily. "Well, I at least hope someone is going to cook my dinner." And with that, he stalked off.

"It's not going to help him if you do it for him."

"He put half that tent up himself!"

"Because you got chummy with him? You're not going to teach these kids the skills they need in life by being their friends. They need discipline."

"Yeah, well, I've been on the receiving end of your discipline." Launchpad snorted.

Mr Russell swallowed hard. "One time, Launchpad. That was only ever one time."

It wasn't what Launchpad had been referring to. Not that one incident, but the usual bullying and the tearing strips off of the kids in front of each other, and slapping failure badges into their open hands like it was something they should have been ashamed of. Launchpad shook himself and went over to check through the food supplies. Mr Russell didn't follow him.

***

Dewey kept his eye on Launchpad the whole afternoon. As they set up the food, the campsite, and collected firewood, his friend was clearly becoming more and more frustrated with his so-called assessor. I mean, he had plenty reason to be. Mr Russell hovered around, making snarky comments, both at LP and about the kids to LP, and he didn't help with anything. But this was Launchpad. He liked everyone. Launchpad had simply said Mr Russell hadn't thought he'd been a good Woodchuck. But that couldn't be all of it. It all made Dewey want to grab his friend by the shirt sleeve and make him tell him exactly what the guy had done that had him so on edge. He'd tried once, but Launchpad had just smiled at him faintly, which was something at least, and then asked him to go help collect firewood. Dewey would have argued, but Mr Russell had been right there and he hadn't wanted to make Launchpad look bad.

Now, the camp was set up, the sky was darkening, and everyone had settled down to eat dinner around the campfire. Nothing bad had happened that Dewey could tell, apart from the tent falling over. Hopefully that meant, so far, Mr Russell would have nothing negative to report on.

Once the meal was finished, Launchpad stood up and pulled out a set of prompt cards. "Oookay everybody. Now because some of you are new we're going to show you some of the stuff we do as Woodchucks. Then, if you want, we can talk about you becoming one too, if you're interested."

Russell snorted. "Or are capable."

Launchpad shot a glare behind him and a prompt card fluttered into the fire. "Er. Where was I?"

"Maybe you can tell our new recruits what we're doing tomorrow?" Huey suggested.

"Um, right," Launchpad shuffled his cards, then shook his head and shoved them back into this sash. "Well, the swimming hole is only a little way upstream. So, in the morning we're going to hike up there. Assuming the weather holds, we'll be doing some swimming. And the…"

"Do you even have your swimming badge yet?" Mr Russell said.

Launchpad flinched and clutched a hand to his sash.

Dewey couldn't tell if he'd covered a blank spot or not, but there were a hell of a lot of badges, spread all across Launchpad's broad chest. So, of course there was a swimming badge. I mean, everyone know how to swim, right? It was time to Dew what he'd come here for. "Launchpad knows how to swim!"

"I wasn't talking to you, boy," Russel snapped.

The scared look fell from Launchpad's face. "Hey!" he said, a growl creeping into his voice, "don't talk to my Woodchucks like that."

"Well, you're not doing anything about it. You're just going to let them interrupt you?"

"You're the one who interrupted, Launchpad," Huey pointed out. "My brother was just…"

"That's enough out of both of you. If you don't want to be digging toilets…"

"We have to dig toilets?!" Doofus groaned.

"There's a block up the hill," said Violet. "That was supposed to be part of the induction. Unfortunately Launchpad was interrupted before he could get to that section of his prompt cards."

"Seriously?" Mr Russell fixed his glare on each of the Woodchucks in turn. "This is what you let them get away with? No wonder they're such a pitiful…"

"Mr…." Launchpad bit himself off, then steadied his hands into fists down by his sides. "Jack, that's enough. I had to put up with this when I was a kid; I'm not going to let you talk them like that. They're going to do fine. And if some of them take a little longer to get their badges, or even if they don't want to be Woodchucks, that's fine too. But you're not in charge here. So you can… you can sit down, shut up, and put whatever the hell you like in your report. But if you're going to behave like this, you can leave."

"Oh, snap…" Dewey said, as quietly as he could manage. Okay, so he'd never seen Launchpad get mad enough to take someone down a notch, so Mr Russell had to be getting to him, but, at the same time, Launchpad was standing up to him. Good for him! And Mr Russell deserved it too.

Mr Russell glared at Launchpad for a long moment. Then he shrugged. "Well, the way you're going, you're not going to be in charge for much longer." He took a step up to him, and the two men stood chest to chest. Launchpad didn't back down. Not that he should have, because he was clearly that much bigger, and Russell just ended up pretty much staring into his chest.

"Yeah," Russell finally drawled. "Didn't think so. Still haven't got that swimming badge, I see. And I know there's at least one pretty big failure hiding behind where that one should be."

Launchpad's stance drooped. He said, barely audibly: "I thought you said you weren't going to bring that up."

Huey's guidebook snapped closed sharply, and everyone jumped. "There's nothing to say he can't give out a badge he doesn't have. Plenty of our other leaders didn't have all their badges either."

"You mean the leaders you had before Launchpad scared them all away? I've heard the stories. Part of the reason why I made sure I got this assignment; I had to make sure he was taking care of you. And, you know, I wasn't going to say anything in front of you kids," and he turned back to Launchpad. "But seeing as you're being so disrespectful to me, which isn't surprising, I'm not going to feel bad about it.

"I've seen nothing that tells me you should be looking after these kids all by yourself. A couple seem to be pretty self-sufficient, if belligerent, but if anything they've been doing all the leading here. You can't control them, I can't see that you're actually teaching them anything, and I'm just glad nothing has happened except a few fallen tents, because I'm not sure you've got what it takes to handle all this."

"I haven't had the chance to teach them anything yet. This was your problem, Jack, you never gave anyone a chance, the slightest mistake and you'd already pegged them."

"And I was usually right! I was right about you, wasn't I? You're dangerous!"

Violet shot up a hand. "My understanding of the assessment procedure," she said, not stopping to get permission to speak, "is that you assess Launchpad on his ability to keep us safe. Not on how you view his leadership style."

"Leadership style. That's a fancy way to put it, miss."

"Her name's Violet," said Launchpad. "You realise I'm doing this all by myself, right? If you could just help, for once, instead of standing around judging…"

"Judging you is literally my job here," said Mr Russell. He spread his paws wide. "Look, kids, I get it. You all think I'm the bad guy here. But the girl is right; this is about your kids' safety. I just don't want to see Launchpad get himself in the position I found myself in, where I couldn't control the kids I was responsible for…"

The firelight threw sharp shadows across Launchpad's lowered brows. "Jack, don't."

"I got kicked out of the Woodchucks for years, and they had every right to do it. You want to know what happened? A kid drowned on my watch. Come on, Launchpad, you don't want to be responsible for something like that, do you?"

Launchpad stared at Mr Russell for a long time, saying nothing, chest heaving. Then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the campsite.

What the heck? Dewey shot to his feet. "You're a jerk, you know that? Launchpad, LP…" He headed out into the darkness after his friend.

***

Authors note: I wanted to write something that put Launchpad in a position where he would have to 'adult'. I also wasn't sure how well I would write the DT17 version of Launchpad, as I'm honestly more comfortable writing say Violet and Huey, so yeah, I made it challenging for myself and he has to adult as well. Lol. I also did want to see a little bit more of Launchpad being a Woodchuck leader in the series (which, yes, I think he would be good at, in his own way.) I imagine its something he's put a lot of effort into. Its a setting where he'd have to be the one being the adult, but still being Launchpad… especially when things start to go wrong, so hopefully I have achieved that. Please leave me any comments. I do like hearing what people think and will usually try to respond.

***

Chapter 3

#dt17 #dt17 fanfic #dt17 launchpad #launchpad #launchpad mcquack #dewey duck #huey duck #violet sabrewing #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #disney ducks

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random-mha-thoughts · 5 years ago

Text

Jerk (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x Fem!Reader

@adainelartz asked: “ I read your oneshots and I think they're great! I wanted to request an angst (sad or hapy end) oneshot where the reader has a fire quirk or something similar, and Shouto and Her had been classmate in elementary or middle school and people used to bully Y/n chan for thinking she could be like endeavor with her being weak or a top hero with a quirk like hers and Shouto just watches every beat ups given to y/n chan and Y/n chan decides to snap in UA and take revenge and targets to hurt Shouto most.”

Genre: Angst to slight fluff

Word count: 3,361

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: I swear this was going to take a shorter amount of time to write and it was going to be a lot shorter as well. But what can I say, I’m a writer; I write, my brain starts working, I write more, the gears turns more, what do I do, say no? No, I keep writing.

This ending isn't the best and it feels kind of rushed, but I also didn't know how else to end it and I wanted to hurry and finish it and I already almost fell asleep sitting up at my keyboard at least twice, so I wrote the first thing that came to my head. I hope I did your request justice, babe~ Thank you again for letting me write it~

Also, if you haven’t seen, I hit 600 followers yesterday! Though I don’t know why you all are here, thank you for being here and sticking through my poor update schedule. I appreciate you all. Enjoy the story~

I hate him.

He's oblivious as I bore holes into the back of his head. Mr. I-Got-In-On-Recommendation just sits there studying like the studious boy he is. Everyone thinks he's so great, but I know he's no better than a bully.

"Are you okay, (Y/n)?" Jirou asks, eyeing me warily as he headphone jacks flit around. "You need to calm down, your food's already dead."

Looking down, there were holes in my salmon from me poking at it. "I'm fine, just thinking of something."

"You must be thinking of killing someone then," Kaminari laughs nervously, scooting an inch away from me. "I'd hate to be on the receiving end of that."

He flinches when I smirk at him. "You probably should be." I'm only joking, but after Bakugou, I'm the next scariest person in 1-A. It doesn't help that my quirk is also dangerous.

But it wasn't always that way, unfortunately. Back in middle school, I could barely light a candle with my fire quirk, flames barely stuttering out a cold, dark red flame before collapsing on itself. I've always been vocal about being a powerful top hero, and my quirk should've matched those ambitions. Instead, I was a weakling. No one believed me or took me seriously. They laughed at me, teased me, scoffed at me, disregarded all my dreams. But I never gave up, I kept my dreams close to me and resolved to work harder.

I tried befriending Todoroki just because I thought he could give me pointers, since he has a Fire quirk also, but he wasn't very open to making friends or talking about that half of his quirk. In fact, he was always cold to everyone, but somehow he was still popular. So popular that some girls in my classes berated me for getting close to him. They were my worst bullies; just because I tried being friendly with their crush, they started teasing me about how weak I was, humiliating me in front of the class, writing nasty messages on my desk, pouring water on me. It even got to the point where they started pulling me out after class and during lunch to beat me up. I would be the punching bag or target of all their quirks.

"This is what a real hero fights like! Not some puny whore like you!"

They'd growl and laugh at me, and I couldn't defend myself. And on a few occasions, I'd see Todoroki standing a distance away as I was battered and bruised.

I didn't care that he didn't know it was because of him that I was being abused. I was angry because he just stood there, watching as those girls beat me up and called me names. I curse his apathy, those cold eyes as he stared right at me, met eyes with me, and chose to walk away as if nothing was happening. Just because his quirk is already strong, he looked down on weak fools like me. What a pompous asshole.

Months before entrance exams, I'd had enough of being a busted-up rag doll. I trained late into the wee hours of morning, pouring over countless online guides for unleashing your quirk. The first time I was able to sustain a bright red flame for more than 30 seconds, I almost cried in victory. The more I trained, the more powerful and hotter my flames became, spanning from red to orange to bright yellow, even white in short bursts. By the time the UA Entrance Exam rolled around, I'd attained incredible control over the temperature and sizes of flames I can make. Getting into UA has been my best achievement since I worked so hard for it.

Imagine how bitter I was when I heard Todoroki got in on recommendations.

I wasn't just bitter, I was pissed. A cold, pompous jerk like him got in just because he's known to have a really powerful quirk and his father is a Pro Hero. He doesn't even have a hero attitude! How can someone who doesn't even help a bully victim be a real hero?

From the first day of starting UA, I vowed to make Shouto Todoroki pay for his mistakes.

"Hey, (Y/n)?" Kirishima places a hand on my shoulder as we walk back to our classroom. "You went to the same junior high as Todoroki, right?"

"Yeah, why?" I try not to visibly bristle at his name.

Shark-Teeth hesitates, trying to word his next question as delicate as possible as his features twist awkwardly. "You two aren't very fond of each other, are you?"

"We just didn't talk," I put it bluntly.

Kiri rubs behind his neck. "I would've thought that, you know, since you two have similar quirks you would've at least-"

"He's not a very..." Friendly, kind, decent- "Talkative person. He didn't really have friends in school." I sit down in my seat and pull out my books, signalling I want to end the conversation.

Thankfully, Kirishima recognizes this, mouthing an "Okay..." before retreating to his own seat for class to begin.

Later that day, we're into duo teams for battle trials. My teammate ends up being Ojiro. At least it's not that jerk. As Bakugou and Midoriya fight it out, we're discussing tactics in the back of the room.

"You're much better at close combat than me," I explain, "So you should go out and take on the other members while I guard the weapon. If you need backup, I'll come out to help you." I already anticipate how Todoroki's going to attack. Being pitted against him is the perfect opportunity for me to get back at him.

When it's our turn, we set up inside the building near the weapon. I tug my gloves over my long sleeves. "Stay behind me. Whatever happens, don't panic," I mutter as I stand near the blond's tail.

Ojiro's confused expression is about to ask me why when the entire building starts rumbling. I activate orange fire out of my hands as the ice starts sweeping inside the room. Typical. At first, the ice is about to trap us, but I expand the size of the flames and sweep them over the entire inside of the room, careful not to burn the weapon.

"How did you know he would do that?" Ojiro asks, obviously impressed by my foresight.

"Instinct. Todoroki's going to come in here thinking he's frozen us to capture the warhead. When he does, I'll distract him while you run out and get the jump on Shoji, okay?"

As I predicted, Todoroki strolls into the room, eyebrows furrowing when he sees the room is completely rid of ice. "What-"

I don't give him chance to react as I blow orange flames directly at him. He puts up an ice barrier in the nick of time, my quirk completely encompassing him in heat. I nod for my teammate to hurry, and follows my orders, slipping through the door and bouncing out a window.

You're mine, jackass. I rush at him through the flames, heart pumping fresh rage through my veins. He raises his arm to shoot ice at me, but I jump up above him, propelling myself with flames from my left hand and shooting from my other one at him once I'm soaring near the back of his head. Landing right behind, I swipe his legs before he can spot me, effective in tripping him to his knee. I kick down, sending him onto his face with a groan. Gotcha.

Unfortunately for me, his right arm finds my ankle, sending numbing ice up my leg. "You can't win that easily," I grit out. I step on his free left wrist, hearing the crack under my foot, and shoot another flame blast at the ice on my leg. Ignoring his grunts of pain, I crouch down and pin his right hand behind his back. "And that's checkmate, Todoroki-san."

"Alright, that's enough, Young (Y/n)!" All Might yells out through the speakers. "The villain team has captured the hero team!"

Smirking, I shove Todoroki aside and walk away without bothering to look at him again. "So much for someone getting into UA on recommendations," I mutter to myself.

Once I'm out of the building, Ojiro raises an eyebrow at me. "Where's Todoroki?"

I simply shrug. "He'll be down in a little, I guess."

Turning back around, the jerk is exiting out of the building, nursing his left wrist against his chest. I face away quickly, just a twinge of guilt invading my mind.

"Hey, (Y/n), I think he's hurt," Ojiro's calm voice points out.

I scowl at him. "It's just his wrist, he'll be fine," I bark, stomping off to the rest of the class. It's not fair that I feel guilty, he deserves it!

"You sure there's no beef between you and Todoroki?" Kirishima asks as he walks next to me at the end of the day.

"Fuck off, Shark-Teeth!" I'm still in a bad mood. It's just his wrist, come on! "One trip to Recovery Girl and he was completely fine, I don't know why everyone's so bent out of shape about it!"

"Because you didn't even help him afterwards. That's kinda not heroic, don't you think?"

I round on him, about to grab his shirt and blast him in the face, instead choosing to clench my fists. "You don't know what 'mean' is! Stay out of this!" I walk away from him without looking back, mumbling to myself. How can he say that about me not being heroic? If he knew what Todoroki did, he would say the same thing.

On my way to the train station, I spot that familiar mop of bicolored hair staring at me with the same neutral gaze I hate. Glancing down, I see his wrist is fine before quickly darting away. Pompous jerk making me feel bad.

After that day, this idiot always had the audacity to stare at me. I always feel his eyes on me, it's so annoying. And he makes it so obvious, he doesn't even look away when I catch him, he just stares at me. It's enough that Kirishima's words got to me, I don't need him confusing me with this staring contest we have going on. If he wants to talk to me, he should do it already.

During the next few training sessions, we began sparring against each other with our quirks. People have slowly been becoming scared of me during these times because of how rough I was.

Once, I got to fight Bakugou. It was really fun going all out against someone who's just as aggressive.

This time, my opponent is the jerk himself. When Aizawa announced the pairs, Kirishima was about to pull me aside, but saw my murderous look and chose he would like to live. Everyone around us found their partners and started their individual training. While the two of us stared at each other from across the mat. I want to smash his emotionless pretty face in, I hate that I don't know what he's thinking!

If he's not gonna make the first move, I will. I rush up to him, igniting the flames in my palms. He's ready for me this time, standing his ground as I bound up and hunkering into a fighting stance. I throw up a hand towards his face once I close in on him, ready to blow his face off.

Todoroki catches my hand by the wrist, bringing his right hand up to trap me in an ice coffin. I slap that hand away and explode out a burst of orange flames, making him let go and stagger a few steps back. He immediately sends a trail of ice down to secure my feet in place, but I respond by directing both my hands downward, propelling myself off the ground and towards him in a giant, sweeping leap.

The familiar weightlessness of being in the air fuels the adrenaline pumping through me. He's my enemy, and I'm taking him down.

As I launch more continuous blasts at him while I soaring towards him, Todoroki coats his arm with ice to block his face. But he's in for a surprise. Moving close enough, I drop kick his arm down before landing a punch straight in his face. My body lands on top of his torso, pinning him to the ground. Winding back to land another punch on him, he suddenly launches his upper body upwards, headbutting me in the nose.

I let out a pained growl, reeling back as I feel the tingling of tears pooling in the corner of my eyes, and Todoroki uses this opportunity to flip us over so he's on top. Placing his hand on my shoulder, I'm instantly plunged into an ice coffin under him. Heaving out an icy breath, he slowly rises to his feet. The puckered skin of his scar already starts swelling into a bruise where I punched him, and forehead cracked from where he headbutt my nose.

The anger boils my blood hot as my flames. He's not winning over me! I'm not letting that happen! With a growling scream, heat floods from my iced palms before I'm broken free from my confines. White and blue flames erupt from my hands, directing them straight up at Todoroki. The ice barrier he puts up to protect himself melts faster than ice cream on a hot day against this new color of my fire. It continuously flares out from me as I stand up, pointing right at him and getting closer. I ball my fist up and throw my fire-coated fists at his forearms, the anger still building inside me. I want him to yield before me already, so he can pay for his sin.

Even after my quirk blinks out, I continue punching at him, blinded by both rage and hot tears. It wasn't until something wrapped around my arms and restrained me suspended slightly off the ground that I finally stop.

"I'm not putting you down until you're cooled down," Aizawa growls, his quirk and capture weapon smothering me.

Everyone was already staring at the scene. Although I scowl, I go limp and show no signs of resistance. When my body finally relaxes, I feel a sharp pain shooting up my hands and forearm. Once I'm free, I inspect my hands, noticing the beginning blisters of burns coating everything from my fingertips to my elbows. Ouch. My fire's never done that before. It's probably those flames I used. The dull pain in my nose starts throbbing.

"Both of you took this training a little too seriously," our teacher glowers at us. "I'll deal your punishment later. Can I trust that you won't kill each other going to see Recovery Girl?"

"Yes sir," we both mutter out.

The walk over there was quiet. I trudged ahead because I didn't want to see his face, but I had to feel his gaze bore into my skull again. After a good scolding from Recovery Girl, we were told to rest for a little while in the office before going back to class. I try to lie back and ignore him, indulging myself in quiet. I was so full of emotion that my flames turned hotter than they have before, but I have to use them sparingly since they can burn my normally fire-resistant skin. I'll have to make some adjustments to my hero costume gloves too.

"Do you have a person vendetta against me or something?"

Even just the sound of his blank voice makes me roll my eyes. "Hm, I wonder what could've given you that crazy idea."

Todoroki rolls up to a sitting position and faces me. Just like mine, his arms are wrapped in bandages. Apparently, because I punched him with my white-blue fire, he has some burns too, though not as severe as my own. He peers at me from one grey eye, the other one covered by a bag of ice he nestles against his new bruise. "I'd like to know why."

I clench my fists weakly against the pain. "I really don't feel like burning this office to a crisp right now, so we shouldn't talk about it."

"I think it's only fair when someone's holding a grudge against another, both parties should be clear on what the grudge entails."

Stupid logical idiot. "Fine." I sit myself up with a little more difficulty and flash him a harsh glare. "When we were in Junior High, you pushed me away when I tried to be friendly with you. I know you remember how weak I was and how much everyone else teased me because I said I want to be a top hero, like your dad. You were cold to me that way, but that's not the only reason I hate you. These girls in our class didn't like that I was getting close to you, so they started teasing me, harassing me, and beat me up." I pivot my entire body towards him as I hiss my next words, "And you watched them without interfering. You let a victim get bullied and you did nothing. Someone who wants to be a hero and save people, and got into this school on a recommendation, can't even be bothered to be a hero to his classmates when they're being bullied." Shaking my head, I add, "You disgust me. You're no hero, you're just an extremely powerful pompous asshole. You make me sick."

Todoroki's entire demeanor changes. Instead of the cold expression he always displays, his eyebrows relax out of their furrowed position. He looks down at his wrapped arms. "I...didn't think at the time. Yes, I saw it happen. Frankly, I was disgusted by you having a similar quirk as my father and wanting to be a hero after him." His left hand clenches. "That power repulses me, which is why I never use it in combat. Watching you go through all that, I rationalized to myself that you were strong enough to take it."

His fist relaxes and he bows his head somberly. "I know it's no excuse for what I did, I apologize for that. I take full responsibility for your hatred."

I'm quiet, kind of stunned. I've sometimes imagined Todoroki apologizing to me, but seeing it happen is somehow surreal. Rubbing the back of my head, I admit, "Well, I have to say that it's partially because of you that I was spurred to start training and become as I am now. So thank you, I guess." And although I really don't want to, I also say, "I'm sorry I broke your wrist in training last week. And burned you today. And almost tried to kill you in general. It was all overboard and I've been a huge jerk about this whole thing."

He offers a nod. "I believe it's safe to say our differences have been settled, then. I hope we can patch things up and become better classmates now that this is all behind us."

Without looking at him, I hold out my fist between our beds. When he takes too long, I roll my eyes. "It's a fist bump, it's what f-friends do."

I sense his eyes dart between my definitely tinted cheeks and my fist, before his fingers daintily close over it. "I'd rather do this, if you don't mind."

Peeking over at him, I open my hand, allowing him to gently clasp my hand between his fingers and his palm. A new sense of warmth washes over me when I look into his eyes. Though his features are as non-emotive as ever, his relaxed, mismatching orbs rest on me in what I can only place as support or respect.

"You're strong, (Y/n), and although my previous unfair actions towards you are what primarily coaxed it out, I know you already were in your mind and heart. I look forward to seeing it as we both progress to becoming heroes together."

His slight softening shifts something within both of us. And that moment told me that our new relationship would evolve into something greater.

#todoroki x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #todoroki angst #todoroki shouto #angst to fluff #female reader #todoroki imagine #todoroki scenario #request #mha todoroki #bnha todoroki #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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mst3kproject · 4 years ago

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Invasion of the Star Creatures

I promised you guys something truly awful this week, didn’t I? Well, how about a space invasion ‘comedy’ (big emphasis on the air quotes there) produced by Samuel Zarkoff to be a double-bill with The Brain that Wouldn’t Die? The closest thing it has to a star is Frankie Ray, whom MSTies might know as the writer of Laserblast. He also wrote Zoltan, Hound of Dracula, which I really, really need to see one of these days. Film Historian Bill Warren described Invasion of the Star Creatures as ‘so helplessly bad it’s almost unwatchable’. Let’s find out if he was right.

Fort Nicholson is the world’s center for atomic research, despite apparently being staffed entirely by idiots. The two biggest idiots are, unfortunately, our main characters. Their names are Philbrick and Penn. No, I don’t know which is which. No, I don’t care. I’m gonna call them Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice. The first ‘comedic’ sequence involves Rick With The Squeaky Voice sitting in a barrel pretending he’s going to space, and getting his ass set on fire.

That sets the tone for the whole movie quite nicely. It’s stupid and it’s not funny, and it never gets any better. In fact, as we shall see, it gets significantly worse.

For some reason, Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice are assigned to a mission to explore a cave recently exposed by a nuclear test. This turns out to be the base for two seven-foot space women, Tanga and Pona, and their tuberous minions, the Vege-Men, and the entire party is soon in their clutches. The aliens say that they have come to save humanity from destroying ourselves through nuclear war, but naturally the army isn’t into that. Rick With The Squeaky Voice discovers that kissing the women puts them into a daze, allowing the two idiots to escape, but of course nobody back at Fort Nicholson believes their story. Is it really up to these two to stop Tanga and Pona from heading back to their home planet with their report? We’re doomed.

I don’t remember which review it was, but I once invited you to imagine a movie in which every character is Dropo or Watney Smith. This is that movie. This is proud of being that movie. The aliens try to read the two Ricks’ minds and one is completely empty while the other is full of superhero fantasies. Pona calls what she sees ‘completely illogical and infantile’, which is a fair description of the whole movie.

There’s a sequence where one of the army men shoots a rattlesnake that was about to bite one of the Ricks, and then cries because ‘he might have had a family’. They try to lampoon the thing in old movies where the characters walk through the same set from different angles by doing it without cutting away or changing the camera angle, but it just looks dumb. The Colonel gives a long-winded speech about the merits of getting straight to the point. A forced march stops for a lovely picnic and wine tasting. A guy gets his ass kicked by a Vege-Man and declares, “that’s the first time a salad ever tossed me.” There’s a running ‘gag’ about fans of ‘Space Commander Connors’ recognizing each other’s secret decoder rings and immediately going into a full-on geek-out.

None of this is funny, much of it is downright embarrassing, and the worst part is that the writers have no idea how to include their attempts at comedy in the story. Rather than the hijinks advancing the plot, every time something that’s supposed to be funny happens, the whole thing comes to a dead halt. This gives the impression that the movie is stumbling around in the dark with no idea where it’s going. It finally seems to settle on a plot when we find out that the spaceship is about to leave and must be stopped. After some bullshit the Ricks convince the Colonel (and only the Colonel) to help them take on the aliens. At this point I was thinking that this movie was pretty terrible but it hadn’t actually pushed me to the point of being tempted to turn it off…

And then it got racist.

The last ten minutes or so of Invasion of the Star Creatures are a downward spiral in which it seems like they gave up trying to be funny in favour of being actively offensive. First, they encounter what’s supposed to be a group of Native Americans on horseback. Rick With The Squeaky Voice tries to get their attention by saying “hey, Kemosabe, I wanna buy some blankets!” The Natives don’t speak much English but they do a lot of grunting, and threaten to kill the Colonel because they think he’s General Custer (?!). Then they kidnap everybody and force them to smoke the peace pipe and drink firewater and the white guys only escape once the Natives have passed out.

Holy shit. Not only is this repulsive, it is, as previously noted, irrelevant. It has no effect on the plot other than to waste time. The Natives do not help them defeat the aliens and neither does the Colonel, who is also in a drunken stupor. And then, just when we think this can’t possibly get any worse, the defeated alien women declare that they must throw themselves on the mercy of the Earth Men. This turns out to mean marrying them, and the dialogue specifically likens marriage to slavery, which Tanga and Pona seem to consider a point in its favour! The end of this movie left my head spinning. It’s like I watched a guy get ‘comedically’ knocked over by a punching bag for forty-five minutes and then he suddenly turned around and punched me in the face.

(Hey, I just realized… remember how I said the cave was exposed by a nuclear test? The dialogue emphasizes how this whole area is irradiated and dangerous – and then totally forgets about it. It’s never mentioned again and the characters take off their protective gear and never put it back on. So… that was useless, too.)

There is stuff in this movie that could have been funny. The secret decoder ring stuff almost got a smile out of me once or twice, because the characters seemed so earnest in their love for ‘Space Commander Connors’ and his lore. The ‘Vege-Men’ also had potential. We get to see a greenhouse room where they’re grown to be the women’s slaves, and the seedlings are hands or feet sticking out of flowerpots with a few leaves around them. This is fairly amusing and I could see it being the juvenile form of a sentient plant on Star Trek TOS. Adult Vege-Men are actors in stupid carrot costumes that they obviously can’t see out of very well, which should have been funny just because it’s so terrible, but Invasion of the Star Creatures is so bad you can’t even laugh at it ironically.

The idea of using a bumbling idiot as your main character, let alone two bumbling idiots, frankly baffles me. Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice are supposed to be the guys we, the audience, identify with. We’re supposed to like and root for them and to perhaps be able to imagine ourselves in their places, but the only thing I feel for them is contempt. Why would anyone want to see themselves in these guys? Perhaps it’s an attempt to say that anybody can be a hero, but the two Ricks don’t even qualify as that. When they save the world, it’s basically by accident. The ending, which rewards them with promotions, medals, and beautiful wives from outer space, actively makes me angry because they didn’t earn any of that!

Invasion of the Star Creatures works very hard at being pointless, and there’s very little in it that comes anywhere near a theme. If any such thing exists, its in Tanga and Pona’s insistence that they’re here to save humanity whether we like it or not, and how the humans react to that idea. The women say it would be a shame to see a young civilization destroy itself because nations were too stupid to work together. Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice reject this entirely, which is supposed to be a joke: these guys are in the army, so if humanity transcends the need for conflict they’d be out of a job. The rest of the plot then seems at pain to emphasize that humans cannot work together, and do not want to.

After all, the two Ricks’ attempts to summon help come to nothing. The Native Americans never understand that these men want assistance, and the Colonel thinks it’s all a Space Commander Connors game before sliding under the metaphorical table, having never done anything useful. The Ricks themselves spent most of their time arguing and complaining and in the end succeed only through good luck on their part and poor timing on that of the invaders. Usually a story that begins with ‘aliens want to save primitive humans from ourselves’ would end with ‘the aliens were wrong about us’. Invasion of the Star Creatures seems to want to say the aliens were right the whole time!

So there you have it – Invasion of the Star Creatures. It started off kinda bad and not funny, then swirled down the cinematic toilet into outright offensive, racist, sexist drivel. I’m trying to think of some small thing I can say about it that’s nice, but I’m having a very hard time. I guess I kinda liked the rumbly noises that represent the alien language – that was more fun than just having the actresses spout random gobbledygook. Other than that, I’m at a loss. The actors suck, the sets suck, the effects suck, the costumes suck, and everybody involved was a bigoted dickweed. Fuck this movie.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #invasion of the star creatures #fuck this movie #60s

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ghostmartyr · 4 years ago

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/clears throat/ so, Immi, I hear you like the locked tomb, which is fantastic! from one person also escaping the snk series into TLT to another, what did you think of the characters and plot in HtN? are there any things you're most excited to see when Alecto comes out in 2022?

-pats lifeboat- This baby can fit so much trauma.

SPOILERS, naturally.

With another paragraph informing the curious that unspoiled is the way to go into HtN, since if you aren’t lost and confused, are you really reading Harrow the Ninth?

I read it all in one day, and that was a choice. It does mean my memory and understanding of what all went on is slightly dependent on someone else on the internet exploding over a particular set of paragraphs and explaining their significance to me, but I still enjoyed the hell out of it.

HtN disappointed me on one front in that I was hoping seeing more of Harrow 1.0 would help out any future fic endeavors. On everything else, like the first one, being told the story is such a good time that I’m willing to wait on a full comprehension of where it’s going.

I also really like second person.

What I loved most about HtN is how even without Gideon mentioned until very, very late in the book, you can feel her absence everywhere. In the wrong bubble flashbacks you’re commanded to examine the strangeness, but even in Harrow going about her day, the isolation and the wrongness of it decorate her every action. She’s alone, and she shouldn’t be, and the loss she’s unaware of bleeds into a constant echo of grief.

I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated absence as a narrative tool so much. Obviously griddlehark hours go hard once they start in HtN, but even before then, there is so much power to their connection that looking into a world where it never exists still manages to punch you in the heart with how much each one inhabits everything the other is.

The whole series is amping me up with a few thoughts on loneliness, honestly. Gideon and Harrow grow up alone on the Ninth, save for each other. It takes leaving for that to be any kind of good thing. The first book is tag team Among Us with everyone in their little clusters, slowly learning what other people are about as they all drop dead.

The second book has a different vibe and different plot things going on, but it’s similar in that the protagonist gets thrown into a world they don’t fit and have to put on a show. Only now there are even fewer people to familiarize with, with that number correlating directly to how they all killed the person closest to keeping them from being alone.

Lyctorhood is taking the person dearest to your heart and trapping them there forever while they’re stripped of everything that made them who they are.

...Also Ianthe is there.

Gideon, Mercy, and Augustine are the last Lyctors standing after 10,000 years. There were only seven, starting out. Sixteen acolytes who came to the First. The only pair who didn’t succeed in condensing themselves is separated from the pack and sent to live away from their peers on a tiny planet that no one has anything good to say about.

Alecto is John’s -- who even knows, past A Lot, and he puts her to sleep and locks her in a prison no one but he can get past.

God has seven friends. More if you want to count the people in the Cohort, but realistically, he has seven friends. Then they keep dying.

Harrow spends HtN in a spaceship with five people.

One is trying to kill her.

One ordered that one to try to kill her.

Two could not care less about the useless baby Lyctor.

One is Ianthe.

There is no real endgame. There is surviving life, and life has become a game of running as far away as possible so you don’t share your ruin upon your inevitable death.

It’s bleak and sad.

Harrow’s healthiest relationships are with dead people, and some of them she didn’t know at all in life.

Reiterating it, the most plot significant bit of the world is finding someone else in the world, swearing yourself to them, and smashing your souls together until you’ve lost the connection entirely.

My brain’s not in the best place so I can’t do more than gesture loudly at it, but a few people have mentioned that the series’ thesis is a counter to Ianthe’s statement that love is acquisitive.

Harrow tightens her hold around Gideon until Gideon would rather she just strangle her and get it over with, all things considered. It fucks them both up, and when they start working to get past it, circumstance wraps a chain around both their throats.

The necromancers who become imperfect Lyctors have all acquired their cavaliers, and besides the cav, it kills that bond.

Harrow’s rejection of that is why Gideon’s soul is still in the world of the living (and John blood).

She has spent her entire life eating pieces of Gideon to keep herself a horrid imitation of whole, and when she is finally offered that, she refuses.

Grief and how Harrow just can’t are active elements of the book, and Magnus gives her more therapy in five minutes talking about it than she has ever had in her life, but the reason why that isn’t the end of Gideon is because, unlike all the other Lyctors, Harrow turns the offer down.

With the exception of Babs and Ianthe, the relationship between cavaliers and necros about to do the Lyctor thing is cavaliers promising to burn for an eternity while their necromancer lives off the fumes.

Fuck that is Harrow’s response.

Cytherea says, in the aftermath, that they had the choice to stop.

Harrow stops.

A lifetime of doing exactly what Gideon is telling her to do with her death, and Harrow chooses to stop.

Harrow remembers Ortus’ poetry. She regularly sees her congregation off to their deaths. She keeps Gideon’s glasses. She views Palamedes, head exploded and all, as an infinitely better person than she is because of the quality of his exemplary character. She pulls Gideon the First from the incinerator on the night she plans to kill him.

Kiddo has so many fucking issues, but somewhere, she has learned to respect people for being people. That’s why she and Gideon are the heroes of the story, ultimately, and Ortus saying that they’re heroes worthy of the Ninth doesn’t fall flat. They’re actually trying.

Where that puts us for Alecto, I don’t pretend to know.

Since the first book is the temptation of an end to isolation, only to have it snatched away, the second book is the continuation of isolation with a few promising sparks of human connection that pave the way for hope...

That leaves the third book to shed the isolation and allow the connections to thrive.

With Gideon and Harrow MIA.

I know that the books kick things up into high gear in the final acts each time, but if they’re both gone for the majority of the book, no matter how much fun it is, I’m going to miss them. They’re the core leads, and I don’t want to be without them in the final part.

The 2022 release date has aged my soul. I deliberately planned my GtN read to land a month before HtN came out, then suffered when that was delayed. When really that was nothing at all. I hate waiting.

(Insert note that I’m very glad they aren’t forcing Muir to rush anything out. It’s been a rough time, but also, just in general authors should have the opportunity to create the best versions of their art they can, so the extra time hurts, but it’s obviously for the best.)

What I’m most excited for is probably the cover art. The first two have been awesome, and the artist said he’d likely do print sales for all three when the third’s revealed. My wallet cries but my heart does not.

What I dare not be excited for is the potential for Gideon and Harrow meeting again and perhaps hugging. In their own bodies.

I’d take other bodies, but ideally, y’know.

Also I would love for Harrow to finally meet her popsicle girlfriend.

I doubt it would be a wholly positive experience, but by golly I want it. Maybe they could hug too. It would probably kill Harrow again, but who doesn’t expect several people to die again in the third book?

However it plays out, I’m expecting to enjoy AtN. The writing’s the sort that I’ll happily follow wherever it goes. For everything else, there’s fanfic. The only real worry I have is the whole book will be narrated by Ianthe, and while I mentally groan at that, I actually find Ianthe’s commentary delightful, so even in the worst case scenario I’m having a good time.

Thank you so much for the ask.

#Harrow the Ninth #Gideon the Ninth #The Locked Tomb #asks #oh I don't have an ask tag for the tomb yet #should work on that #tl;dr #viva la pluto

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bluerose5 · 4 years ago

Text

The Precipice of Change: Chapter 1

Rated: T

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Word Count: 4,268

Tags: Male Mage Hawke, Hawke as Inquisitor, DAI Inner Circle, Purple/Flirty Hawke, Canon-Typical Violence, past Male Hawke/Fenris, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Blood & Injury

Summary: The story of Dragon Age: Inquisition, as told if Garrett Hawke were to become the Inquisitor instead.

There's nothing like being the Chosen One for a god that you don't really believe in, fighting to save a world that wants you dead eight out of the seven days of the week. But Hawke makes do. He always does.

Chapter 1:

When Hawke decided to attend the Conclave, it had been out of his heart’s foolish sense of empathy for what Anders used to call “the mages’ plight.” Don’t get him wrong. Garrett wasn’t completely devoid of all sense and emotion. He actively supported mages’ freedom whenever possible, stood up for them over and over again when —for a while there— it seemed as if Kirkwall had nothing to offer beyond blood mages and abominations. Even if he hadn’t factored that in, it certainly wouldn’t do a long-term apostate any favors to support the templars, of all people, but the last thing he had signed up for was this.

The last thing he remembered, he had been roaming around the Temple of Sacred Ashes, hood drawn close to conceal his face. He had been there under the guise of a Circle mage from one noble family or another. A random stranger had mistaken him for this Trevelyan lad from Ostwick, so Hawke had simply rolled with it, figuring that it was better than being recognized as the former Champion of Kirkwall. Not that his possible appearance was much of a secret, given that the Divine’s Right and Left Hands had specifically extended an invitation to him as one of the apostates’ “leaders” or what-have-you.

Still, one could never be too safe.

Anywho, here he was, roaming around the place, minding his own business…

Okay, maybe that was a lie. Hawke may or may not have heard about there being a cheese platter somewhere, and anyone that knew him would know that the mere possibility of there being one was enough to have him searching it out.

It was during his snooping that he came across… something, and then his memory goes blank from there.

Continue Reading Under the Cut...

And now, here he was, waking up in some dark, dank prison. Hurray! It almost reminded him of all of his worst nightmares. Surely any moment now, some Knight-Lieutenant would come barging in with the brand in hand, all serious and dour and ominous looking. They would probably spit on him, call him a filthy apostate for good measure. Can’t forget a nice kick to the gut with those damn boots of theirs. There’s nothing like instilling a decent dose of fear in their bound and helpless captives before lobotomizing them, right? Might as well go the whole nine yards. After they’d have him all bruised and bloodied, then they’d finally follow through and position the brand, its heat radiating along the surface of his skin—

The door to his prison slammed open then, causing Hawke to jolt in shock. His eyes snapped open, but it was hard to see much without squinting into the darkness, his narrow-eyed gaze accompanied by a scowl.

Just as he was getting to the good part, too!

The first woman that strolled in wasn’t anyone familiar, but the second one had Hawke doing a double take. Mind you, her garb was a bit different from the last time they met, but he could hardly forget meeting such a legendary character from the Fifth Blight. What kind of Ferelden would he be, had he forgotten the Leliana herself?

“Sister Nightingale?” he asked, head cocked to the side as he tried to get a glimpse under her hood. A single flash of torchlight upon her face was enough to confirm his suspicions, Hawke’s brain registering a second too late that the “torchlight” was suddenly green and coming from his hand. “Long time, no see. Lovely weather we’re having. How have you be—”

His ramblings were cut short when a mind-numbing, all-consuming pain lanced through his palm. It managed to do the impossible and shut him up for once, a sharp hiss replacing Hawke’s words as he tried to clutch his hand against his chest, only to have his manacles stop his hands in their tracks. He keeled over instead when he couldn’t find the relief he sought, curling in on himself with a breathless wheeze. Each flash of light was an assault on his nerves. It felt like lightning licking through his veins, brutal and relentless.

Muffled words poured in through his ears, but he couldn’t make out who was speaking nor what they were saying. Almost as if he was listening to them speak from underwater.

Just as the pain was becoming too much, black dots now clouding Hawke’s vision, the agony of the mark slowly started to recede. The green light disappeared, and the fire retreated back to his hand. It no longer engulfed his whole body, but simply radiated in his palm as a slow, aching throb.

Once Hawke was able to piece together some semblance of coherence, he gasped out for air. His entire body trembled and threatened to come apart at the seams, but having a sword suddenly pressed against his throat was like a bucket of ice-cold water to the face. He sputtered indignantly, golden brown eyes darting up to the Seeker’s sneering expression.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she snapped, her patience apparently at its end.

Hawke’s head spun in confusion.

“I—” And because the man seemed to have a death wish, he just had to make a smartass comment, didn’t he? “Uh, because of my charming wit and stunning good looks?”

Might as well try for one of his signature smiles.

The second he grinned at her, though, the Seeker’s frown grew impossibly deeper.

Okay, that’s a ‘no’ to the signature smile then. Understandable. Its effects tend to vary, and this lady Seeker already came off as more sensible and sane than most of his former inner circle. Nice to know.

With a hand on her shoulder, Leliana stepped forward and gave her companion a pointed look, to which the Seeker responded with glare.

It took several moments for her to back down, but she eventually did, not without first scoffing at Hawke in disgust.

After she sheathed her weapon, both of them started to circle Hawke, predators waiting for the ideal moment to strike. It made Hawke tense up ever so slightly, his hackles raised and on edge.

“The Conclave is destroyed,” the Seeker continued, as if Hawke had never interrupted her. “Everyone who attended is dead, except for you.”

Wait, what?

Staring up at her in bewilderment, Hawke gaped.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Could you repeat that back for me? Surely, I must’ve heard wrong.”

“I’m afraid that you heard her correctly, Champion,” Leliana stated, her voice deceptively calm, despite the icy layer to her gaze. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes went up in flames. Conveniently enough for you, you are its sole survivor.”

Hawke pursed his lips at what she was implying, but the Seeker interrupted him before he could defend himself.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that you were involved when a holy sanctuary was destroyed in an explosion.”

Okay, now that was a low blow.

“Now, wait a damn minute,” Hawke spat.

The mark upon his hand decided that now was as good a time as any to make its presence known again, flaring bright green in response to his anger. Thankfully, the pain was slightly more manageable this time around with Hawke expecting it, but its mere appearance was enough to send the Seeker’s temper flaring as well.

Yanking at Hawke’s hand, her nails bit angrily into his palm, adding fuel to the already roaring flames.

“Explain this,” she snarled.

Snatching his hand back, he lifted his chin up in defiance as he stared her down.

“Yes, I’ll get right on that, explaining a mark that I know next to nothing about. If anything at all,” he deadpanned.

She took his shirt in hand and hauled him up to his feet until they were practically nose-to-nose, her brown eyes lit aflame with fury. Her hands were clenched tight into white-knuckled fists, Leliana having to step in once more.

“We need him, Cassandra.”

That was all she said on the matter, though. She didn’t even try to stop her as she did last time, lingering more in the shadows.

With a huff, Cassandra shoved Hawke back onto the ground, turning to Leliana with a scowl in place and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Apparently, that was some sort of signal because Leliana took it upon herself to address Hawke again.

“You know what happened,” she accused. “How this all began…”

She trailed off, giving Hawke ample opportunity to fill in the blanks.

“If only I did,” he sighed, but he knew that such a lackluster answer wouldn’t help his case. “Listen, all I remember was that I was in the temple.” Come on, Hawke. Think. “Then next thing I know, something is, uh—” He wracked his memories for the details, only to fall short. “Something was chasing me? Oh, and there was a woman there too, I think!”

Leliana perked up at that.

“A woman?”

Hey, whatever worked.

Hawke nodded eagerly, scrambling for something —anything— else regarding that fact.

“She reached out to me, but then—”

And just like that, the memory slipped. Damn it. Was this sort of what Fenris felt like all of those years ago?

No wonder why he didn’t want to sleep with Hawke again.

“Ugh,” Hawke grumbled, head falling forward in defeat.

Cassandra must have decided then that she had heard enough.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.”

After the two exchanged a look, Leliana nodded and left. Cassandra took the opportunity then to drag Hawke back onto his feet, giving him little time to regain his footing before she hauled him off. In her haste, he stumbled over himself, but one sharp glare from her stopped his complaint in its tracks. Instead, he focused on staying in step with her, all while the gears started turning in his mind. He might not have ever met Cassandra before in person, but that doesn’t mean that he had never heard of her either.

After all, Varric had warned him that he had people searching for him, and how many Seekers were out there that went by the same name? Clearly not a coincidence.

Then again, when doesn’t Hawke have people after him?

Cassandra must have noticed his staring, eyeing him cautiously in return.

“What is it?”

Hawke really should start thinking before he speaks.

“Oh, I don’t know. From the way Varric described you, I imagined you would be taller, is all,” he chuckled.

The second her expression darkened, he knew that he had fucked up.

“From the way Varric described me?” she repeated slowly, scrunching her nose up at that. “Which means that he had written to you after I took him in for questioning. What a fool I am. I should have known that the dwarf was still contacting you. He insisted that he had no clue where you were.”

Oh, great.

Varric was so going to kill him for this.

“Ah, yes, well you see—”

Usually, he was much better at bullshitting on the spot, but his mind was unfortunately too muddled and dazed at the moment to come up with anything even remotely believable.

“Ugh.” Cassandra rolled her eyes at him. “Save it, and come on.”

That was all that was said before she led him outside, the light blinding enough that Hawke flinched, staggering backwards before Cassandra righted him. As they strolled forward, the commotion outside fell silent, like the calm before a storm. All eyes in the surrounding area turned on them the moment the doors opened, many filled with sorrow, and many more filled with a burning, deep-seated rage. All of which was now directed at Hawke.

He didn’t care, though. His attention was focused on something else entirely. Namely, the massive tear in the sky.

“What is that?”

The sheer surprise in his voice was impossible for even Cassandra to deny, her lips pursed in consideration as she turned to appraise the green, swirling vortex.

“We call it ‘the Breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It is not the only such rift. Just the largest.” She took a deep, bracing breath. “All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“Seeker, I’ve seen the damage firsthand that an explosion could do to a city, and it wasn’t anywhere near this magnitude,” he stated, wondering what the hell kind of nightmare he stumbled upon in the Fade. “The amount of power that would be needed to tear open the Veil itself…”

As if his words had summoned its wrath, the Breach flared brightly, causing the mark to hiss and sputter angrily. White-hot pain shot through him, his words cut off with a gasp. His knees hit the ground, but he couldn’t even feel it compared to the wildfire consuming him from the inside-out.

His ears rang, and his vision blurred.

All sounds were drowned out like before, and it was only when the mark started to calm again that he was able to focus on what Cassandra was saying, kneeling in front of him with a hand upon his shoulder.

“—ch time the Breach expands, the mark spreads, and it is killing you.”

Great, so not a dream then.

“It may be the key to stopping this,” Cassandra continued, “but there isn’t much time.”

Yeah, of course not. When is there ever?

“So that’s it, huh? The infamous Champion of Kirkwall, cleaning up everyone’s messes again?” Or causing a few more than they started out with. Cassandra’s expression remained unimpressed to say the least, causing Garrett to sigh. “Okay, yeah.”

The way hope lit up her face nauseated him, his hand suddenly feeling like a dead weight.

“You will help us then?” she asked, wary and hesitant.

“I’ll do what I can, Seeker. Whatever it takes.” Hawke nodded at her with a bleak smirk. “Although, I don’t share your confidence that this mark will do anything other than more harm.”

“And here I thought that the Champion would be more lively in person. Varric never told me you were so pessimistic,” she joked, helping him to his feet to guide him along.

“You’re only figuring out now that Varric is an unreliable source?” Hawke asked. “If anything, though, the people who usually hurl insults at me would label me a hedonist, or perhaps they call me a heathen. It’s so hard to tell sometimes.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would view your presence as anything less than charming,” Cassandra deadpanned, to which Hawke nodded eagerly in agreement.

“That’s what I keep saying! It’ll forever be a mystery to me.” It was then that he noticed the cold reception he was getting, surrounded on all sides by silent stares. “So… wonderful welcome party you have here.”

Cassandra was quick to jump to their defense on the matter, not that Hawke expected anything different.

“They have decided your guilt,” she explained. “They need it. The people mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars.”

“Perhaps the last chance,” Hawke said, his voice little more than a grave whisper. Cassandra nodded.

“She brought their leaders together, and now—” Her voice broke ever so slightly, but Hawke kindly kept quiet about it. If anyone could understand grief and loss, it was him. “—now they are dead.”

She swallowed thickly, standing taller as she schooled her expression back into its cool, calm, and collected mask. The time to mourn would come later, hopefully when the world was in less peril.

“We lash out like the sky,” she said, “but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

“And after that?” Hawke asked.

Cassandra paused, considering. “We shall see.”

Well, that was promising.

Once Hawke’s hands were unbound, Cassandra explained that they should test his mark out on something smaller than the Breach, which was fine by him considering that he was the one whose life was at risk. They were interrupted more than once on their trek forward by the mark’s sudden flare-ups, and Hawke could swear that he lost consciousness at one point, forcing Cassandra to practically drag him along at her side. He quickly came back to, but the mark was relentless, the pain worsening by the second.

The next time that Cassandra had to pick him up, he smiled apologetically in her direction.

“You know, I always admire a woman who can pull her own weight. And mine, in this case.”

Maker, he was rusty, but he tried to at least recover from his idiotic blunder by winking at her for good measure. She simply scoffed and shook her head in exasperation, rolling her eyes at his antics.

“If that was supposed to be flirtatious, then you failed. Horribly,” she stated, her expression giving nothing away beyond mere annoyance. “I would give you points for the effort, but even that was lacking.”

“My wounded pride,” Hawke sighed. “Perhaps I could—”

He was interrupted when debris from the Breach came crashing down in front of them, blasting right through the bridge they stood upon. Its foundation gave a loud groan of protest, stones crumbling one by one beneath their feet as they both fell to the icy path below them. The guards that were atop the bridge were sent down along with them. When the dust cleared, several were injured, and one of them had even died on impact, weapons scattered all along the ground as they yelled and tried to regroup.

Of course, fate just had a funny sense of humor because it was at that exact moment that demons started sprouting from the ground like daisies in the spring. The Breach was all but spewing them out without a care in the world, so Cassandra had definitely lost her marbles if she thought for a second that Garrett would follow her order to stay back.

Unfortunately, he didn’t really have a staff on hand, nor were there any spare lyrium potions lying around. Use of his magic would have to be scarce then, but he could make do.

Carver wasn’t the only one among the Hawke siblings that had learned how to use a sword. He was simply the only one that had perfected the skill. Malcolm’s knowledge might have consisted of mostly the basics, but it was still better than nothing, both Garrett and Bethany having learned out of necessity. Not only was it a handy defense for when their magic needed to be hidden, but it was also useful to know when faced with enemies who could dispel their abilities. In the end, though, Garrett guessed that it mattered little in Bethany’s case, but he refused to linger on that.

Right. Need to focus.

Scrambling across the ice, Hawke let his adrenaline flow freely, scooping up one of the swords and shields that had fallen in the soldiers’ wake. Right then, a shade manifested behind Cassandra, who was already busy battling with two others. Letting out a roar, Hawke rushed forward and knocked it down while it was distracted. It gave an indignant screech, which instantly grew louder when Hawke slashed at it with his blade. Blackened blood sprayed out from where he cut, but Hawke didn’t have time to consider it as he attacked the demon once again. Now and then, he would use some spells as needed for backup, but he stayed mindful of his pool of mana.

Soon enough, the demons all fell, one by one. The soldiers that could join them in the fray did so at the first opportunity, but many more still needed tending to.

Before Hawke could approach them, Cassandra was already in front of him, fire blazing in her eyes.

“Drop your weapon,” she snapped. “Now.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at her, but he complied nonetheless, the sword and shield clattering to the ground as he waved his fingers at her.

“You know I’m a mage, right? Don’t really need a weapon to be dangerous, so far as everyone else is concerned.”

She sneered at him.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

He shrugged. “Well, no, but I haven’t used my magic on you yet.”

“Yet,” she repeated.

“Listen, are we really going to stand here and argue my horrible word choice all day, or are you going to let me heal your people so that we can continue on?”

“Heal them?” She blinked owlishly at that, as if trying to root out some ulterior motive hidden beneath his words.

“Well, yeah, not all of them took to the fall as gracefully as we did, Seeker.”

Which was saying something, considering how winded and disheveled they both were at the moment.

Eventually, after much appraisal on Cassandra’s end, she stepped aside. What mana Hawke did store was soon directed towards healing those around him. He was no Anders, by any means —thank the Maker for small miracles— but he knew enough healing spells to do some good.

Unfortunately, only a few actually accepted his help, so he didn’t have much to occupy him for long before he and Cassandra needed to head out.

By a surprising turn of events, she approached him after he was finished with the sword and shield that he had used earlier. When she offered it up to him, he hesitantly took it, wondering if this was some kind of trap.

Picking up on his suspicion, she huffed, arms crossed defensively over her chest.

“There were no mages among this lot, so we will be unable to procure you a staff for the rest of the journey. However, I cannot —in good conscience— leave you defenseless against demons, especially since you agreed to do this voluntarily.”

“Yeah, voluntarily. After you had me bound and gagged. Oh, and threatened me with death! Don’t forget that part.”

Cassandra sputtered, then paused, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Hold on a second. We did not have you gagged,” she protested, because obviously that was the worst accusation out of the three.

“Of course you did, and it was only when I broke free of my chains and escaped my dark, creepy, spider-infested prison that I looked upon all of this chaos around me—” Hawke swept his arms out around himself in a grandiose gesture. “—and decided to save you poor, unfortunate souls from mortal peril. Fighting through an entire demon army along the way, with the occasional dragon and ogre thrown in there for good measure, to reach the Breach!”

Cassandra gave a disgruntled sigh.

“I can see why you are friends with Varric, Champion.”

“Yeah, we are pretty amazing, aren’t we?”

Shaking her head at him, even she couldn’t deny how the corner of her lips quirked up the slightest bit in amusement.

“Not the word that I would use.”

They continued on the path from there, their banter occasionally interrupted when demons popped up or the mark flared. It wasn’t too long until they finally arrived at one of the smaller rifts that Cassandra had described, Hawke perking up quite noticeably when he noticed a specific dwarf there. He had no idea who the bald elven mage was, but he figured he would find out soon enough, he and Cassandra joining the fight against some shades and wraiths.

“Hawke?!” Varric yelled out in shock, releasing a bolt into a nearby enemy. “That you, you bloody bastard?!”

“Ha!” Hawke laughed as he covered a shade in ice, only to break it into a million tiny pieces with a slice of his sword. “Do you know any other Champion that’s this devilishly handsome?”

“More fighting,” Cassandra huffed. “Less talking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hawke teased, focusing in on the battle at hand.

Once the final demon was downed, the unnamed mage took ahold of Hawke’s hand without explanation, magic coursing through where their skin touched. It was… strange. Not unwelcome, but almost as if the elf’s magic was guiding that from the mark.

Garrett really didn’t have time to consider it, his palm being thrust towards the rift before he could get a word out.

“Quickly! Before more come through!”

The resulting pain swelled inside him. It grew and grew, large and gluttonous, threatening to rip him apart at the seams. When Hawke prodded at the rift, it felt as if it prodded back, but something in that magic eventually gave way. It pulled and tugged at the edges of the rift, requiring Hawke’s full attention to get the edges to budge. Sweat beaded at his hairline, and his breaths soon escaped in labored gasps. But Hawke knew that, this time, failure wasn’t an option.

He didn’t know exactly how it happened. He didn’t know whether he pulled from the elf’s magic somehow or if the elf intentionally fed his magic into his, but something they did made the damn thing work. Like the last piece of a puzzle finally slipping into place.

With one final burst of energy, the mark snatched the edges together and sealed the rift closed. It was a patchy mess, but it got the job done nonetheless, the Veil scarred where the rift once was.

Tired and exhausted, Hawke didn’t even care how he dragged Mr. Elven-No-Name with him, his legs giving out as they both collapsed back into the snow.

The first one to break the newfound silence was Varric, as eloquent and timely as always.

“Well,” he panted, trying to catch his breath, “shit.”

And on that, Garrett thought as his eyes slipped closed, we can agree.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age 2 #dai #da2 #male hawke #inquisitor hawke #male inquisitor #my writing #my fanfic #crosspost #crossposted from ao3 #work in progress

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littlemeowmeowschimmy · 5 years ago

Text

Smile ~ [Jungkook x Reader]

credit: littlemeowmewschimmy

Requests opened // m.list

Genre: Spoopy(?) // Batman AU // Angst

WC: 2.2k

Summary: Walking alone in Gotham is dangerous, walking alone at night, is your worst nightmare

A/n: The reason this isn’t a fully fleshed out idea is that I wanted to give y’all a taste. If anyone wants to read more or wants me to finish this in part two, I will. However, because it is Halloween, I thought it would be cool to write an open-ended Joker Jungkook one shot :)

»»————-　★　————-««

“Stupid heals,” you mumbled under your breath, hobbling your way back to your apartments. Your fluffy wool coat wrapped around your shoulders as you were trying to keep as much warmth as you possibly could. Walking the streets of Gotham was dangerous during the day, however, at night, they were worse. You didn’t know who would come out, if the police would be there in time, or if you could run away fast enough.

It certainly didn’t help that you had too much to drink, so your body was already unstable as it was. You moan under your breath, still holding your jacket close to your body. How you ended up like this was because your friend invited you out tonight. It was Halloween eve, and she said you weren’t going to stay inside. Not after last year when you broke up with your boyfriend.

You hadn’t realized it right away, but it had been a year since that toxic relationship. You were slowly starting to pick your life up where he destroyed it. Yet, there were still habits you had obtained from his toxicity. How you viewed yourself in the mirror and barely left the house was one of them. Your job was an online teacher, so the comfort of your home was always lovely.

But when he was around, it felt like a cage. Since that cage was gone and you were free, you felt the need to stay comfortable inside. Your friend, bless Jimin’s heart, was just trying to get you out of there. He knew how rough it was for you and wanted you to feel special. Plus, he wanted you to meet some of his friends because he enjoyed them and thought they would be a perfect match.

You couldn’t believe what he was doing, but then again, Jimin was always spontaneous. You lost him in the crowd during the middle of the night and couldn’t find him. Then, your left heel broke, and you were just over it. So instead of wobbling around the disgusting club, you decided to walk home. Your apartment wasn’t that far, and you knew you would make it back.

Yet, with one heel on and the other off, it made things more interesting. You were dodding puddles, holes, and other traps that would make you topple over. In doing so, you kept your head somewhat bowed as you wanted to watch where you were heading...and yet that didn’t stop you from worrying about how late it was.

Most crimes usually happened pass midnight because that’s when everyone was going home. Someone could and would take advantage of a pretty woman walking down the street who looked extremely helpless. It didn’t help that you didn’t have any of the productive gear that your father gave you before moving from your small hometown to Gotham. Yet, you were thankful to your mother, who followed you up on those self-defense classes after the incident of ‘07.

“Stupid Jimin thinking that it was a good idea to go out tonight,” You grumbled once again, looking up at the street to see if you needed to turn or not. You held your arms closer to your body while you crossed the road. Head still bowed, making sure that you weren’t going to trip over anything. Then it automatically hit you, like physically hit you.

Your body froze, unaware of what was going on. Your drunk mind was trying to process everything and figure out what your hands and legs should do, but nothing was happening. Instead, you felt an intense arm wrap around your body, the other around your face. Their fingers walking up to your neck and around your throat.

Cocking your head back and placing a cold metal object against your skin. You assumed it was a knife for how it dug into you, but you couldn’t quite tell. A soft whimper escaped your drunk mouth while your eyes were fixated on the figure in front of you.

“This isn’t funny, Joker,” a gruff voice came from the man. You scrunched your eyebrows together, unaware of who he was talking about. Then, it all hit you. The fit of giggles that came from behind you chilled your body to the bone. From the corner of your eye, you saw his pale skin and dyed green hair slide right beside you.

Even though you could only see a part of him, you already knew what his face looked like. It was edged into your memory from the day you told your parents you were moving to Gotham. His oval-like face that was always caked in white clown makeup with those mono-lids that usually had different shapes painted over them.

His wild eyes always bore into whoever saw his picture, and they stayed in their nightmares. Wild, unkept dyed green hair is usually what stood out to most people when seeing him for the first time. But it was when he laughed or spoke that had everyone frozen in their spots.

“And what are you going to do about it, Bats?” His venomous words biting back at who you assumed was Batman. All the things that could have happened, who it could have happened to.... it had to be you. The universe was just telling you that tonight wasn’t your night, because now you had more significant problems to face.

“She has nothing to do with this,”

“But she’s pretty, isn’t she?” Joker coos flattening the knife against your throat. You felt your heart beat faster in your chest while standing there, trying to figure out what you were going to do. Everyone who had crossed paths with Joker never made it out alive. And even if they did, they were too afraid to speak about the events that occurred.

“Just like my Harley Quinn,” he hums, tapping the cold metal against your skin. “And yet,” his voice darkens. “My Quinn didn’t want anything else to do with me.” he bites the last part, shifting the hold on his knife to the other hand.

Quickly, he snatches your chin with his grasp, turning your head so you could face him as he walks in front of you. Those pictures you saw on television, in the newspapers, they were nothing compared to how he looked in front of you.

You could see the scars littered across his face, his eyes darker than coal. That clown makeup caked onto him so no one could see what his true identity was. No one even knows what his name was other than “Joker.” He was mysterious, and he liked to keep it that way, and now, he had you held under his grip like it was nothing.

“I wonder if this pretty doll would like to become the next Quinn,” he sings, bringing the knife up to your lips and pressing the tip down on the bottom half. As he does so, he lets out another fit of giggles, then turns his head to face Batman, who was inching himself closer.

“Atata~” Joker’s sing-song voice came out again. “Any closer Bats, and I’m going to carve a smile on her face.” pausing so he could face you now. “Because a pretty smile always brightens my mood!” Batman breaks where he stood, watching the interaction between you and Joker. He was trying to formulate a plan before everything got messy.

Batman, more commonly known as Kim Namjoon, was chasing after this lunatic tonight. Joker had escaped Akharm for what seemed like the 100th time. Namjoon never really understood how he kept escaping, but that was beside the point. He had a plan to destroy the city and ultimately kill him in the process. One thing he was trying to stop this evening, but as he was chasing him, you suddenly came into view.

Namjoon was too late to push you out of the way because the next thing he knew, Joker already had his arms around you. Now, he was trying to get you out of a situation that he created. From Namjoon’s point of view, he knew that you were intoxicated and now frightened out of your damn mind. If you knew any self-defense, Namjoon wanted you to try it. Save yourself and run, but he also knew what alcohol could do to a person.

Mix it with the fear of Joker and a situation you never thought you’d find yourself in, and Namjoon could understand why you were frozen. Namjoon was going to say another warning, but he was caught off guard when a smoke bomb burst in between you and Joker. That’s when he reacted and jumped forwards, holding his tazer in one hand.

But was instantly kicked to the side by one of Joker’s henchmen. Then it all made sense to him. Joker was buying time to escape by drawing this scene out. As Namjoon rolls onto his feet, he notices that not only was Joker gone

But you were as well.

»»————-　★　————-««

Jungkook had better things to concern himself about than having an unconscious woman on his bed. Last night he was getting real close to finally take Bats down, but you suddenly ruined the plan. Now he had to work around keeping you fed and captive, while also making sure Bats doesn’t charge into his hideout.

Jungkook wipes the makeup from his face, tossing it the wipe to the side. He never showed what was underneath to anyone, not even Harleen. Yes, most believed that his skin was bleached due to the amount of stage makeup he wore, but it was only just to cover his identity. How he started his line of work only by accident. He got into the wrong crowd at the wrong age and went insane.

Or that’s what his mother would’ve had said, but he buried her six feet underground to shut her up. Jungkook loved who he was, and he liked what he was doing. Nothing would phase him, and the doctors at Arkham were so dull, to begin with. What he did enjoy was electric therapy, flushing his brain out even more.

It helped keep the demons at bay when solitary confinement was too much. One of the bigger reasons why Jungkook escaped Arkham so many times was simply because he wanted to have fun; he needed to have fun. Not being able to see good old Bats’ face was lonely, and he tried to blow anything and everything up.

Jungkook glances at himself in the mirror and frowns at the gash that was across his cheek. Batman did get him well last night, maybe this time he cut deep enough to leave another scar. He places a couple of fingers on the somewhat fresh wound, groaning a bit. Jungkook turns around when he hears you stir on his bed.

He quickly spins around, trying to find a mask to cover his face. But it was too late, your eyes met, and you promptly shuffled yourself back to the head of his bed. You were still in your golden dress, your heels were tossed the minute Jungkook stepped through. At first glance, you didn’t recognize Jungkook. He looked so different from his makeup off, but when you saw his dyed hair, you ultimately realized who it was.

“What do you want with me?” You start trying to find some kind of confidence. Jungkook stands there, glaring down, his hands in his purple suit pockets. He doesn’t say anything, only turns to walk away from his vanity.

“It’s not you that I want anything with,” He spits heading over towards his closet to shrug off his tailored jacket. He hangs it, his back facing you as you held onto whatever you first grabbed. It was an Egyptian cotton sheet. Like that would save you from anything. “Good old Bats will find us soon, and you’re just the piece to the game,” he mentions, merely shrugging his shoulders.

You furrow your brows together, unaware at first where he was coming from. Then, you bit your lower lip shifting yourself one more time. As you do so, Jungkook makes another noise from deep inside his throat. “I wouldn’t do those sweets,” he says, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. “If you’re thinking about killing me,” pausing to turn around.

Jungkook stood with his purple suit pants, orange vest, and green long sleeve that he started to roll to his forearm. “I’ll have your body six feel blow even before you grab the gun.” he threatens his voice darkening as his eyes flash with pure amusement.

You didn’t know what to say to that or what to do next. You felt trapped and unaware of what could happen next. Especially with the rumors you’ve heard about his ever-changing personality. You fold your legs back onto the bed, eyes still locked on Jungkook’s.

He walks forwards, humming as he does so. A child’s nursery theme, you couldn’t think off right away. Then, Jungkook leans forwards and places his index finger under your chin. Lifting it while his eyes glowed brightly with his own amusement. “Now be a sweet doll and don’t cause Joker any trouble.” he purrs his words like venom.

“I wouldn’t want such a pretty face to go to waste~” his high pitched laughter haunting you while he slowly moves from the room.

#littlemeowmeowschimmy #bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #bangtan #bts #batman au #bts batman au #halloween #bts halloween #bts reader insert #reader insert #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #joker jungkook #jungkook x reader

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thethistlegirl · 5 years ago

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🗡 🔬 💰 I hope that’s not too many to request for macgyver!!! Absolutely loved the last one you just posted.

Not too many at all! Sorry these are so late, but I have ALL the extra time on my hands right now!

🗡Stabbing If you're stabbed, the worst thing you can possibly do is pull the impaling item back out. Mac has always been fascinated at how his brain is wired to calmly and stoically kick out a running commentary when his life is in danger. Sure, it's one thing to remember the chemical formulas for sulfuric acid and the composition of a generic chocolate bar, or the method for calculating angle and velocity of throwing a grappling hook, but it's totally different in an immediately life-threatening situation. Like the way he can calculate the pull of gravity and rate of acceleration when he's falling out a sixth story window, or...this. He stumbles backward, hand on the grip of the tactical knife now buried in his side. He's pretty sure the only vital organ hit is his lung, and he hates that he knows that from experience. The man attacking him swings a second knife, but Mac manages to block him, although his hands are slick with blood. And then Jack is there, and one minute the guy who's attacking him is reaching for the knife still buried in Mac's body, and the next the guy's laying on the ground, unconscious. "Mac?" Jack asks, his hands hovering over the knife in Mac's side. "Hey, kiddo, hang on, okay? I'm gonna get you to a hospital." Mac nods, then staggers, coughing. He wipes a hand across his mouth and grimaces when it comes away covered in sticky blood. Okay, that's definitely not good. Jack catches his hand and stares at the crimson dripping through Mac's fingers. Mac knows it looks bad. A wave of pain ripples through him, and he gasps, which sets off another round of wet, blood-soaked coughs. "Okay, kiddo, hospital NOW," Jack says, and when he wraps an arm around Mac to keep him from toppling to the floor, Mac leans into him. He knows he'll be okay. Jack won't let anything happen to him... 🔬 Lab Rat "Don't you see?" The man asks, mania sparkling in his eyes. "What we're doing here will save millions of lives." Maybe if he actually believed that was true, Mac wouldn't be trying to escape right now. After all, he's just one person. And the things he does, he could die any time saving other people. It wouldn't be a half-bad way to go, sacrificing himself to find a cure that could save countless people for years. Probably more than he's saved in his whole espionage career. But the truth is he's pretty sure this man has lost his mind. More completely than just kidnapping random people off a hiking trail to serve as his guinea pigs. Whatever's in that needle probably isn't a cure for anything. He shudders and tries to twist away, but his arms are restrained, as are his legs, trapping him on this cold metal table while the literal mad scientist stares down at him. The sting of the needle sliding under his skin is followed by a cold burning feel of something entering his bloodstream. Mac shudders. He's sure it's just his imagination that his whole arm has started to tingle and go numb, radiating out from the location of the injection. Still, it's incredibly disconcerting to feel. He isn't even sure what this is supposed to be a cure FOR. The man has been incredibly vague, ever since Mac woke up in a literal cage in his lab. The last thing he knew, he'd been running the trail he takes every day, and then there was a sting in his arm and he'd fallen. There are still bruises and scrapes on his hands and legs, and his cheek feels swollen, like he probably has a black eye, not that he's been able to see himself. Suddenly, the door smashes open, and Mac turns his head as much as he can, enough to see Jack in tac gear with a Phoenix team behind him. "Step away from him." Jack sounds furious. "J-j'ck." Mac slurs. he can't actually feel his lips. Or his tongue. Weird. "Hey, hey, kiddo, I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?" Jack says, hands moving quickly over Mac's restraints. "Gave me...s'mthing." Mac says, or tries to. The words don't come out right. But apparently Jack still understands, because he picks up the needle that the man dropped on the floor when the tac team burst in, and hands it to one of the team members. "Get this to the lab and get it analyzed ASAP. Tell them it's priority." The man nods. Jack turns back to Mac. "We're gonna figure this out and fix you, kiddo, I promise." Mac tries to nod, but he can't even move his head now. Jack notices, and slips his arms under Mac's body, lifting him gently and carrying him out of the room. 💰 Ransom Mac sighs, shifting in the uncomfortable wooden chair he's been tied to. Why it's always a cliche wooden chair, he doesn't know. Bad guys seem to lack creativity in that department. He shifts and the chain around his ankle rattles. He knows exactly how it's fastened, with a lock he could pick in about twenty seconds if he had a paperclip and some time. When the men with the camera walk in, he rolls his eyes. Really, this is so incredibly cliche. It's not even interesting anymore. Granted, ransoms are better than being kidnapped for information, because that usually involves torture, but this is a torture all its own, in a way. He could have escaped from here twenty ways already. But he has to stay put until Riley uses his comm signal and gets a lock on his location, so they can send a team to rescue the other hostages in here somewhere. Mac could have done it himself if these guys hadn't messed up his knee. He can't move fast enough to get anywhere in this building without being caught. Once the camera is running the baddie of the week launches into his spiel. Honestly they're all so similar; Jack always asks what book these guys all have that they learn their evil villain speeches out of. Granted, that usually gets him punched, but that's also usually his plan, to draw the attention so Mac can get out. Except this time, Mac's here alone. No Jack to pass the time with bad jokes and weird questions about science. "As you can see, Americans, we have your agent. Five million in cash by three p.m. tomorrow, or he dies." The video stream shuts off, and Mac rolls his eyes again. These guys are amateurs, giving Jack and the team far too much time to find Mac's location.And then the man walks up to Mac. "I hope your friends pay up, American. Because I intend to get my money one way or the other, and if they do not pay, well, there are certain to be plenty of other interested parties." Mac tries not to let the shudder show. He knows exactly what this man means. Phoenix has him on a list of high-profile human traffickers. But Jack is going to come get him before he's sold to anyone...The man smiles, and Mac wonders if he said some of that out loud. This stupid concussion is making it a little hard to tell. "I believe your confidence is sorely misplaced. My men took your communication device while you were unconscious, and the video will be stripped of any location data before it is sent to your hacker friend."Mac shudders, and a cold spike of fear runs down his spine and settles in his bad knee. These guys aren't so amateur after all. And he's in a lot more trouble than he thought.

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violetsmoak · 5 years ago

Text

Philtatos [11/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47690671

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #amnesia #underworld #betrayal #gods in disguise

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

It takes Tim ten seconds longer than he’ll ever admit before he understands what’s going on.

Even then, he almost allows himself to get lost in the moment as his awareness floods with unexpected sensation: the brush of lips against his, warm and unexpectedly soft, the scratch of day-old stubble against his chin, weird, but good weird; the smell of motor oil and smoke and generic shampoo.

His pulse thunders in his ears, lungs burning because he doesn’t trust himself to exhale. It takes everything he has to fight against the reflex to lean forward into Jason. He has to remind himself why this is the worst possible idea right now.

While his words remain locked in his throat, his lack of reaction must still speak volumes. Or maybe it’s just Jason’s own wits returning to him. Either way, he jerks back from Tim, expression morphing through several iterations—horror, confusion, and guilt.

“Shit,” he says, voice hoarse. He takes a step back, eyes wide with panic. “Shit. You don’t…you don’t want this.”

His wild gaze darts around, everywhere but Tim’s face, before settling on something behind him that makes the color drain from his face. He takes another stumbling step backward.

Tim whips around, hoping to hell it’s not Bruce behind them, and only feels a modicum less dismay to find Steph there instead. She’s frozen in mid-step, arm in a sling and mouth gaping at what she’s just walked in on.

“What the…?”

“Steph,” Tim warns, trying to ignore the way his own cheeks become warm and his voice mimics a croak.

There’s a muffled clatter behind him as Jason drops his helmet and practically trips over his boots backing away.

“I have to go,” he chokes, still refusing to look at Tim.

He’s already taken off by the time Tim manages to form the syllables of his name.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Steph calls after him as Jason vanishes into the garage. “You can’t leave!”

The only answer is a bike engine roaring to life, and the squeal of tires as Jason peels out of the Cave.

“Jason, no—!” Tim tries, knows it’s a bad idea for some reason, but he’s having trouble getting his thoughts to really connect. He can’t make himself move, legs seemingly bolted to the stone floor.

Jason kissed him.

It’s s something he’s only ever allowed himself to image in the farthest recesses of his mind, the place his thoughts wander just before he falls asleep and can’t control their destination.

If this had happened three weeks ago, Tim would have been elated. Surprised and flustered, no doubt, but cautiously thrilled at the idea of Jason returning any kind of interest in him.

The hard truth is that he doesn’t.

The kiss wasn’t the result of Jason liking him, or even wanting to kiss him at all. It’s the result of a poison swimming through his bloodstream, stealing his will and his judgment and forcing some pale imitation desire for Tim.

And Tim—

Tim is still revisiting the moment in his brain, committing to memory the sensation of Jason’s mouth on his. His heart is still racing, the way it always does after a first kiss. He’s had enough of them to recognize the feeling, but that’s normally followed by warmth and relief and happiness.

Right now, all he feels are the competing urges to either sob or vomit. It’s strong enough that he stumbles toward the stairs, past Steph’s shocked and questioning gaze, and Bruce who stands at the head of the stairs.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

Tim meets his gaze, wondering how he’s supposed to answer that. On the one hand, they need to know Jason’s condition may have progressed, but on the other, some part of him wants to keep what just happened as private as possible.

He shoots Steph a pleading look, and though she seems confused for a moment, it’s barely noticeable.

“Jason left,” she says.

“After all that, you allowed Todd to leave?” Damian demands, marching down to lurk behind Bruce.

“He didn’t like being benched,” Steph supplies. “Probably needed to go sulk.”

“If his condition is as serious as you all seem to think, he should not be driving,” Bruce warns. “I’m going after him, before he—”

“Oh, just let him go,” a voice interrupts, voice exaggerating boredom. They all turn to the containment unit, where Dick is standing in his underwear, arms crossed. “He probably won’t get himself killed. And hey, if he does, chances are he’ll come back again. Evil doesn’t stay dead.”

Bruce’s brows furrow. “Dick.”

“Bruce. Are you going to let me out, or am I supposed to freeze my ass here in my underwear the rest of the night?”

“Do you still have the sudden urge to kill us all?” Damian challenges, trying for bravado but unable to completely hide his real unease.

“’' 'Sudden’?” Dick replies. “You talk like it’s something I haven’t dreamed about since Bruce stuck some new brat in my family’s colors.”

Damian clenches his fists, and Bruce says, “There’s your answer.”

“Oh, come on,” the first Robin groans. “Like you haven’t thought about it once or twice. How much easier your life would be if it was just like old times. Me and you and Babs.”

The words hurt, but it’s dulled somehow, both by the fact Tim knows this isn’t Dick—not really—and by his own overwhelmed exhaustion. This whole situation is hitting him all over again and he’s just…

Done.

He doesn’t bother with explanations or excuses as he strides toward the rarely used elevator. He needs time. And space. To think.

Or not think, as it were.

Somehow, his thoughts remain blissfully empty and blank as he heads upstairs, tossing his gear on the ground once he’s in his room. He gets in the shower, turns it on as hot as it can go and just stands in the spray for a while.

As the aches ease from his body, he carefully allows his thoughts to trickle back in, and to look at the situation objectively.

Jason kissed him, true.

But he didn’t do it to hurt him, either intentionally—by doing so without his consent—or unintentionally—because he has no idea about Tim’s feelings. Probably, he’s out there somewhere panicking. Most likely there will be some time period spent self-flagellating before he tries to do something about the situation.

Hopefully, Bruce or Damian or someone has gone after him by now. If not, Tim will have to do it.

Just as soon as he eases a little more exhaustion from his bones and muscles.

When was the last time I slept? It might be going on two days now.

No wonder he was taken by surprise. Maybe if he had been well-rested, if his body wasn’t a giant bruise from their ill-fated encounter with Cupid, his reaction time would have been better. He could have cut Jason off before he did anything, and he’d still be here.

He needs to go find him. Needs to venture back down to the Batcave, might even have to have another argument with Bruce about his fitness to be involved in the case.

Finding the confidence for that—to even fake for that—takes longer than he’d like.

By the time he finally gets out of the shower and into some civilian clothes, a half-hour has passed.

He’s unsurprised to find Steph loitering against his bedroom door when he opens it, expression of determined concern on her face. He half-expected it to be Bruce—wonders how she convinced him to stay downstairs.

“I’m fine,” he tells her automatically, hating how it sounds like it’s being dragged from the depths of his throat.

“You’re not fine. This whole situation is the definition of ‘not fine’.”

“We’re all doing the best we can.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be hiding up here. He’s really messing you up, isn’t he?”

“It’s not Dick’s fault.”

“I’m not talking about Dick.” Steph pushes off the walls, arms crossed. “I know it’s been weird for all of us seeing the big bad Red Hood’s recent personality change, but it’s obviously different with him being so fixated on you. And now that it’s getting physical—”

“It’s not getting physical, that was just…”

He can’t find the words to explain.

“You weren’t expecting it,” she suggests. “It’s okay. Honestly, I don’t think he was expecting to do that either, considering how fast he ran out of there. But if that’s happening now, he’s only going to get worse.”

“It’s not Jason’s fault either.”

“I know that. But clearly things are escalating. I’m not always Batman’s biggest fan, but I think he’s right about this one.”

“Steph…”

“Or, at least sit down as a group and figure out what to do, instead of you two butting heads the whole time.”

“This is happening to Jason and it’s happening to me. We’re the ones who should get the final say on how to handle it, and it’s been working so far.”

“Yeah? Then why do you look like someone just kicked you in the guts repeatedly? I know you want to help him, but you don’t have to force yourself to be okay with everything. No one would blame you if you needed to take a step back.”

“I don’t need to take a step back.”

“Are you sure about that? From what I heard, this whole thing has been a gamble from the start. I’m still shocked Bruce let it go on as long as it has. It’s not fair to either of you.”

“Bruce isn’t letting anything happen,” Tim snaps with unexpected venom, irritation washing over him. “This is my choice and as much of Jason’s choice as it can be right now. What you saw was just a…a momentary lapse. I’ll—we’ll adjust.”

But there’s a painful lump in his throat as he says that, and his thoughts flicker through images of Jason at his worst, at his most hateful—and contrast them with the easy-going, open and semi-flirtatious man he’s gotten to see in the past few days.

The stark difference between the violent, brutal ways they’ve fought one another in the past, and the gentle slide of Jason’s fingers against his cheek when he kissed him.

How do I adjust after that?

“I’ve haven’t seen this much denial from you since Bruce’s not-death,” Steph says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Is there something else going on here that you’re not telling us?”

“No,” Tim says shortly and starts down the hall. “I’ve got stuff to do, so—”

“Oh, no you don’t, I’m not buying the whole stoic-wannabe-Batman routine for a second!” she trails him down the hallway. “You only get like this when you’re trying to keep people from noticing you’re hurting. And I get the situation is confusing and all—”

“Leave it alone, Steph!”

“—but why the hell would Jason kissing you hurt? It’d be weird, sure, but it shouldn’t bother you at all.”

“Steph—”

“You’re the one insisting it’s not his fault, that he doesn’t…really…feel…” Tim tries to keep walking, but then he’s being spun around by the shoulder, and forced to look into wide, shocked blue eyes. “Are you hurting because it’s not real?”

Tim clenches his jaw shut and does his best to meet her gaze—avoidance would just be a confirmation—but Steph’s always been intuitive about things like this.

“Tim, you’re not…you don’t actually have feelings for Jason, do you?” she practically whispers, like she’s afraid to say it too loud. As if that makes it real.

Story of my life there.

It would be so easy to deny it, to brush it off and tell Steph that she’s reading too much into things. To pretend like it’s just the situation that has him off his game. But today, he’s exhausted, and mustering up the energy required to sell the story seems like too much.

Against his will, his eyes lower, and Steph releases him with a gasp.

He closes his eyes, waiting for judgment.

Instead, he feels her move closer, linking her fingers through his and tugging them until he looks up at her. The only thing on her face is concern.

“Tim,” she begins, careful, “I know this is a bit of a head-trip, Jason being nice to everyone and all. Even I’m starting to like the guy a bit. But…”

“It’s not like that.”

“Okay then. What’s it like?”

Still no judgment, just Stephanie expecting Tim to explain it to her in a way she can understand. They used to have so many arguments that he withheld information from her, and in the end of them, he was doing his best to get in the habit of walking her through his thought process—even if he failed most of the time.

Just as he’s failing now in the oppressive silence between them.

He opens his mouth, tries to come up with the words, then closes it again because—honestly—he can’t even explain it to himself sometimes.

There’s a sharp intake of breath.

“Jesus.” Steph presses her fingers to her lips in agitation. “I don’t…I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Don’t say anything,” Tim suggests, tired. “I’m well aware of the status quo and hoping for things to be different is a waste of time.”

“But, Tim—”

“No,” he cuts her off, and ducks away from her, suddenly needing to be away from the boxed-in feeling of her closeness. “It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is saving Jason. Not just for me. This is—we have to save him, Steph. I can’t—we can’t lose him in his head again. Bruce can’t.”

And now Steph’s expression is no longer telegraphing shock, but also pain and pity. Obviously, she knows that everything Tim just said is true.

“Tim…”

“Let’s save the comments for after this mess is figured out, okay?” he suggests, trying for mild. He halfway manages it.

Steph looks like she’d like to protest, but instead nods. “Okay. I’m just worried.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“Bull. Whatever our issues, you’ve always been in my corner. I’ll never stop worrying about you.”

And that’s actually comforting.

He shoots her a tight smile of gratitude. “Come on. Enough moping, we’ve got two Bats that need to be helped now.”

“My thoughts exactly,” a gruff voice says behind them, and Tim winces, because he really should have expected Bruce to show up eventually.

Looks like Steph only managed to delay him a bit. God, did he hear any of that?

He starts to feel sick again.

“Lurk much?” Steph snaps.

“Stephanie, could you give us a few minutes?”

She makes a face and then shrugs. “You’ve got three before I go get Alfred.”

She disappears.

Tim and Bruce regard each other for a few seconds, both tense.

“How long have you been standing there?” Tim asks, trying not to sound as nervous as he feels.

“About thirty seconds,” Bruce replies, and Tim mentally revisits his conversation with Steph. He doesn’t think he said anything too incriminating. His stomach unclenches a bit. “Your concentration isn’t up to your usual standards.”

Tim’s mouth thins.

So, it’s time for the not so constructive criticism, is it?

But to his surprise, Bruce suddenly looks apologetic.

“Sorry. Given your concern for Jason…for me, I can understand it. I know you’re only trying to help as best you can. And I…” he hesitates, clearly chewing on something that’s difficult for him, “…could have handled my earlier reaction better.”

“You think?” Tim can’t help needling.

Bruce simply nods, doesn’t elaborate.

Of course, that’s as far as he’ll go. Still, for Batman, that’s a lot.

“Thanks,” Tim says after a beat. “And if you heard what I said—I meant it. I won’t let us lose Jason again. Or Dick.”

Bruce nods again and then squares his shoulders. “Barbara is on her way here.”

Awesome segue, Bruce…

Outwardly, he simply remarks, “That’s rare.”

“I contacted her. Since she wasn’t there when Dick was hit by Cupid’s arrow, he should have no problem with her. Chances are she can work with him to try to figure out a solution while we focus on Jason.”

“I bet she loved being relegated to babysitting her ex.”

“I would do it, but I need to keep Damian occupied,” Bruce says. “He’s taking Dick’s...current attitude…harder than he’d like to pretend.”

I get that. It’s not a great feeling when the mentor you’ve been low-key hero-worshipping looks at you like you’re dirt.

“She wouldn’t have agreed, but she has some information for Jason and can’t get in contact with him.”

Tim frowns. “His comms are off, then?”

“Yes. And he seems to have found and destroyed all my trackers. Do you have any on him?”

“No. It…felt like another breach of privacy, given the circumstances,” Tim murmurs, trying not to see the exasperation Bruce tries to hide.

“Trackers or no, Jason’s always had a tendency—or rather a talent—for avoiding Batman when he wants to,” he says after a moment. “Given his condition, he may not actively try to hide from you.”

It’s a reversal from what he was saying before, but Tim gets the sense that Bruce is trying here. Trying to trust him, despite his earlier misgivings.

What’s going on with Dick must be getting to him. He’s used to Jason being the one he has to worry about, but not anyone else.

Tim considers this. “Then I’ll find him.”

“In the meantime, we can hear what Barbara has to say.”

Tim doesn’t point out that the information was for Jason because on the off chance it helps Jason, it’s better to learn sooner than later.

Another thought occurs to him.

“Did Diana ever get back to you? When you were on your way back you said she hadn’t yet, but…?”

“No.” Bruce’s expression becomes shadowed. “I’m starting to think there’s a reason for it.”

“You think that’s tied in?”

“We’re dealing one Olympian god—possibly two. Of course, it has something to do with it.”

“Are Clark or any of the other League members dealing with wayward gods?”

“Nothing from what I’ve found out. The Titans?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Did you get in contact with Wonder Girl?”

“No. Not yet. I can do that now. Maybe she’s got some ideas about helping Dick, too.”

“Hm.” Bruce nods, and heads back downstairs. He pauses, then turns to Tim with an indecipherable expression. “I realize we haven’t been the closest in the past few months. But I…am available to you if you ever need to talk. About anything.”

“Uh. Okay?”

Bruce watches him another five seconds and then descends the stairs.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Tim really doesn’t want to think too closely about that right now, he has enough anxiety-inducing thoughts beating around his skull. Instead, he reaches for his phone and speed-dials her, flipping the phone around to face him.

“Hey, stranger,” she says as she picks up on the fourth ring. The screen wavers as she seemingly props it up on something, allowing her to keep eating; apparently he caught her in the middle of supper.

Breakfast? What time is it even?

“I thought you’d dropped off the face of the planet. Did you finally finish up that issue with Eros?”

“Not even close,” Tim sighs, scraping his hand down his face. He’s going to need to shave soon.

“Uh-oh. Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

“You probably won’t. Please hold all well-deserved scolding until the end.”

“What happened.”

“So, we tried to get the bow and arrows back…”

“And it didn’t go as planned?”

“Worse. Nightwing kind of…got tagged.”

“You’re kidding,” Cassie groans. “Which arrow? Though either one has the potential to be horrible.”

Tim snorts. “As uncomfortable as it would have been, I think we’d all rather deal with overly amorous Dick Grayson than the asshole that’s down in the containment unit.”

“That’s the trouble when it’s someone you care about,” she agrees. “They always know exactly where to twist the knife. Or arrow, in this case. Speaking of, that’s what this is.”

“Huh?”

“The arrow he got stuck with? It has to be removed.”

“There is no arrow.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be able to see it. It exists on a different plane. Only Eros, or the person wielding his bow and arrow, would be able to see or touch it. It’s why even the gods could never stop him from making them fall in or out of love with someone unless they convinced him to do it.”

“That’s not encouraging. Only Eros…” Tim trails off, thinking of the winged terror in his base, and of the trouble he’s caused.

Of Jason moving into his personal space, pressing his mouth against his—

“What about someone infected with Eros blood?” he blurts out, shaking his face in an attempt to get his cheeks to cool off.

“I mean, maybe, no one’s ever tried, but—” Cassie cuts off and narrows her eyes at Tim. “What do you mean someone infected by Eros blood? Are you going to bring some civilian in and try to get them to fix Nightwing? Because that will only get someone hurt.”

Tim shifts, uncomfortable. “Okay, so…remember how I didn’t really tell you who it was?”

“Yes…”

“It…might have been Red Hood.”

Cassie lets out a string of curse words, some of which may actually be Kryptonian.

Looks like Kon’s rubbing off on her…

“Just because Batman doesn’t tell his team all the details until he’s ready, doesn’t mean you get to do the same thing!” she hisses. “This is serious!”

“I realize that.”

“No, you don’t!” That guy’s crazy!”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?! I’ve seen the footage, Tim! When he came back and did his rounds messing with everyone in your family, he almost killed you! He injured and incapacitated our friends!”

“I’m not disputing that.”

“He doesn’t show restraint, just throws himself into things without caring about the consequences—”

“Debatable.”

“—and has already shown obsessive tendencies. I don’t even want to imagine what he’s like now that he’s been infected with…with erotic obsession for someone!”

“I don’t have to imagine, and it’s fine, we’re handling it.”

“You mean protecting some poor civilian from their brand new murderous stalker?”

“There aren’t any civilians involved, so you can relax.”

“No civi—you mean it’s a cape he’s obsessed with?” Her voice becomes suspicion. “Is it one of you?” When he still doesn’t reply, the suspicion turns to something dangerous. “Tim…Tim, please tell me that it’s not you that he’s focused on.”

“It’s not his fault—” he begins.

“That’s it!” Cassie throws up her hands. “I’m rounding everyone up and we’re coming to you.”

“No, you’re not!” Tim protests, panicking a little because he’s already got Steph who’s going to be watching him like something about to break. The Titans known him just as well, they’re going to figure out the truth just as fast, and he doesn’t want them preemptively crippling Jason.

Unless he can stop her, he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do—and not just to her.

⁂

Jason isn’t entirely sure how he gets out of the Cave, let alone without being tailed by anyone. His normally stellar senses are clogged instead by overwhelming guilt and shame, thoughts seesawing back and away from the fact he just kissed Tim Drake.

He had tasted like coffee and blood from a split lip, and damn it, Jason shouldn’t have done that when he was hurt—

I shouldn’t have done it at all!

The bike beneath him wobbles in a way it shouldn’t as he speeds down the deserted road without an actual destination in mind, just the persistent need to be somewhere that’s elsewhere.

The world around him flickers, substituting the damp and gritty pavement with a dark room then sand-swept stone walls and then an angry, roiling ocean and then a sunlit field. His head pounds with the high-pitched cackle of his nightmares, which morphs into the cheering of hundreds of voices and then screaming.

He feels the strain of his muscles as he swings a sword, the press of his armored back against that belonging to the man who is an extension of himself, tastes blood and dirt in his mouth and the furious joy of a good fight.

Bristol’s gloomy darkness flashes back and forth to a battlefield, bodies, and steel colliding, to the inside of a canvas tent and his hand is on Tim’s cheek, the same as it was in the Batcave.

“Noble son of Menoetius, man after my own heart,” he says, and Tim wraps his own fingers around his hand, brings Jason’s palm to his lips.

No, not Tim. That wasn’t his name, it was—

Jason only just comes back to himself in time to pull over on the shoulder of the road instead of plowing into an oncoming red pickup truck. He staggers from the bike, ignoring the thunk as it falls to the ground, has to put his head between his legs.

“Hey, buddy—you okay? You just came out of nowhere—”

“’m fine!” Jason gasps, backing away from whoever is trying to talk to him. His vision continues to blur and double, juxtaposing night with the day, present with the dream he can’t escape.

Moonlight over the city, the colorless adobe buildings illuminated in its path. Sounds of raucous laughter and music from the inside palace, but outside on the balcony, it is calm and he is at peace.

“I conquer everything, and it would mean nothing without you. In this world, you alone are the one I trust.”

“And you are everything I care for,” the dark-eyed man beside him replies.

“No, his eyes are blue,” Jason murmurs.

“What was that? Hey man, did you hit your head?”

He stares across the manor ballroom until it catches the strange kid’s attention, grinning when the boy’s eyes widen at him. Their color is startling, and they take up practically his whole face.

Jason’s about to motion for him to the edge of the reception area—hanging out with another kid, even a little one, would break up the monotony of the evening—when Bruce’s hand falls hard on his shoulder.

“Time to make an exit, son,” he says, and from the distracted way he’s talking, Jason doesn’t even need to look out the window to see the sky.

Jason gasps, clutching at his head as it throbs like it’s been trapped in a vice. There’s burning pain, not unlike being emerged in a Lazarus pit like something is being forced into him. Only this time, it’s not life, but—

A green dale, unnaturally green and clean, with flowers more vibrant than anything he has ever seen. Birds sing in harmonious tones, fly against the sky that is impossibly blue, perfect wispy clouds gathered around alpine mountains in the distance.

Sitting against a tree, familiar form cradled against his chest. He feels a wistful sigh. “I would spend eternity with you if I could.”

“I’m going to call for an ambulance,” the stranger says, and somehow that cuts through the whirlwind of emotion and image crowding Jason’s head right then.

“No,” he says, straightens up. “No…I’m okay…”

This time he manages to push back the influx of thoughts, seizing on every bit of training he’s ever had in clearing his mind. The images are still coming, but Jason can think around them now.

Not sure how long for, though.

He squints at the man, trying to assess how much trouble it will be if he has to knock him out and run.

Athletic build, blond hair in a brush cut, red tattoos all up his arms of sun and flames, which Jason can see because he’s standing there in nothing but a wife-beater in mid-November. In fact, he kind of looks like someone waiting around for the next Burning Man.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine,” Jason snaps and starts for his bike.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” the guy demands. “You can’t just get back up on that thing, not if you’ve got a head injury or something.”

“No…”

“You’re in a bad way, man, take the help.”

“Listen, pal, if you don’t back off—”

Jason hears a motor revving up in the distance and tenses, visions of being followed by the other Bats. He destroyed the tracker on the bike before he took it, but that’s never a guarantee.

“Never mind,” he switches tacks. “You’re right. I need to go.”

He intends to go on foot, to disappear into the shadows and tree line, but the guy is pointing at his truck.

“I can drive you to the hospital if you don’t want to wait for an ambulance.”

“No hospital,” Jason replies, then forces himself to think past the blurring visions in his mind. “But…there’s somewhere I can get help.”

It’s the last place he wants to go, but he also knows it’s the only place he stands a chance of getting some answers. Even if there will be a lot of smug posturing beforehand.

“I need to get to the East End.”

“Hop in,” the guy says.

“Fine. But you try anything—”

“Relax, dude, you’re not my type.”

“Still. Full disclosure: if you try anything on me, I’ll stab you in the neck,” Jason says—or thinks he says. Everything has a decidedly dreamlike quality right now.

“Fair,” the stranger laughs. His sunny disposition should be raising flags right now, but Jason gets the feeling that’s genuine. “So, were you on your way to a costume party or something?”

Jason blinks, looks down at himself, and realizes he’s still in his gear, minus the helmet he left on the floor of the cave. The red bat seems larger, more menacing than it should be.

Instantly recognizable to the average Gothamite.

He pauses, one foot in the truck, narrows his eyes. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Nope,” is the cheerful reply. “Drove up from Florida to visit some family.”

“Right.”

“No offense, but so far I’m not impressed,” he goes on as Jason slowly eases into the passenger seat. “The sun doesn’t really show up here much, does it?”

“You want sun, go to Metropolis,” Jason mutters, as always a bit defensive about his city.

“Oh, I’ve been there. Big Superman fan.”

“Of course you are…”

“I’m Paul, by the way.”

“Good for you. Can we get going?”

“Point the way.”

As it turns out, he doesn’t actually do much pointing. Paul apparently has an uncanny sense of direction, because Jason doesn’t recall giving him any directions. Although to be fair, he doesn’t recall very much of the drive because the minute he’s sitting down and the scenery is flying past, his mind goes back to assaulting him with images and sounds and feelings he can’t explain.

Before, the dreams were like the distant recollection of feeling and sensation, but now they images won’t leave his mind.

“In life, I sought your heart and won—I followed you into battle, and into death—I follow wherever you will go here in this place that is no place. Do you truly believe that in any life, I would not find you? That I would not be drawn to you? That I would not love you?”

It’s him, he knows that much, and that’s Tim, but at the same time, it’s not. It’s like watching from behind someone else’s eyes and yet like long-buried childhood memories suddenly making an appearance.

Paul is humming beside him, unaware of the tumult in Jason’s mind. Something about all this should be sending alarms blaring in Jason’s head, but it just doesn’t register.

“Should the time come where the gods decree we return to the land of the living, it won’t matter if we return at opposite sides of the world, as a lowly servant to the stately king, as warriors from enemy kingdoms. We will always be reunited. And we will always be ourselves. And that is enough to make me confident we would be worthy of Elysium again and again.”

“We’re about to enter the Bowery,” Paul announces. “Least that’s what the sign says. I assume that means something to you.”

“Yeah,” Jason says, looking around in confusion. “That’s a lot faster than I expected.”

“What can I say? I got some powerful horses under the hood of this thing,” the other man says, patting the dash.

Jason finds himself nodding.

He has Paul drop him off a block or two away from Tim’s apartment, waves away any attempts to go with him, and at his first opportunity disappears into the familiar alleyways without a backward glance.

He doesn’t want to risk anyone knowing where Tim lives.

Normally he’s not bothered too much by anyone possibly recognizing him—no civilian identity means he doesn’t have to worry about his enemies tracking him down that way—but Tim’s been under public scrutiny enough in the past year or so without a known vigilante showing up at his front door.

It’s just the scoop old Vicki would kill for.

His lips curl in disgust, and he briefly entertains the thought of tracking the reporter down and teaching her a lesson about messing with his—

“Stop it,” he orders himself.

He finds his way into Tim’s place the same way as he did before, barely notices the trip down into the depths of chrome and computer. His fingers itch, wanting to reach for someone who isn’t there, and his mouth still tastes like Tim.

Or does it?

He’s not sure if this is from now, or from the—

Memories? Is that what they are? And if so, whose?

He shakes that off. All that matters is getting to the person that can answer his question, that can tell him what’s happening to him.

Eros is sitting cross-legged in his cell, using an empty Big Belly Burger cup to play Quarters with a gold coin. He glances up when Jason appears in front of him, and his eyes widen in appreciation.

“Oh, you are handsome under that ugly red monstrosity,” he purrs, gaze roving over Jason’s features without apology.

He ignores it, instead growls out, “Something’s happening to me.”

Eros freezes.

“It’s different from before, from the…from fixating on Tim. I’m seeing—I hear whispers, it’s like I’m remembering something. Another life. Lives. But they’re not mine.”

“Fucking finally,” Eros groans in unquestionable relief. He puffs his cheeks out in irritation, “I thought you were never going to wake up.”

“Wake up? What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean, welcome back to the land of the living, your highness. You took your sweet-ass time about it.”

Jason gapes, confused for a half-second and then hit with sudden clarity.

“Peleides.”

“I have to admit, for being the work of the only sculptor the king has ever trusted with his likeness—“

“All of us who stand here are kings and the vassals of kings—"

“You know that bastard Darius is holed up across the Euphrates trying to dictate to me?”

“Peleides.”

“—it doesn’t look a thing like him.”

“I was king,” he realizes dimly. “I was…”Achilleus. Alexandros. “…basileus.”

“Knew you’d get there eventually,” Eros nods.

It takes longer than Jason would like for him to navigate through the onslaught of memories, to parse what the winged-man is saying.

“You. You were expecting me to wake up?”

“Expecting? Darlin’, I orchestrated it,” Eros replies smugly. “You think getting tagged with my blood was an accident? That took exact planning and timing on my part.”

What.

“When my warehouse got broken into by those Russian ruffians and then you two muttonheads dropped in, I recognized your souls right away.”

“Right, because you’re a god,” Jason deadpans.

“That’s one reason,” Eros admits. “The other is that I was the one that brought you two together the first time around.”

“…What?”

“You really think the golden-haired, princeling son of a goddess would even look at some minor frontier king’s cast-off son without a push? It took preparation to put him in your path—and then, because you’re both always stubborn assholes about it, I had to bring out the arrows.”

“I thought you said people don’t need your help,” Jason says tightly.

“They don’t, normally. But with explosive chemistry like Achilleus and Patroklus, it would end up one of two ways: bitterest of rivals or greatest of lovers.”

And that…that tracks, actually. It doesn’t make it easier to process.

“And why the hell do you get to choose how that goes?” Jason demands. Somehow, it feels less like a violation being fated to be enemies with a person than to be in love with them.

“You know why. There were big things in the making. Things Achilleus had to be alive for, and if Patroklus became his greatest enemy, he wouldn’t have made it out of Phthia.”

“Bullshit.”

“Is it really?” Eros simpers. “Are you going to tell me if Patroklus—or whatever he’s called today—didn’t take it in his head to take you out, you wouldn’t be dead six ways from Sunday?”

Jason opens his mouth to tell him just that, and then pauses.

Because…

Tim was already a planner before he became Robin if everything Talia told him is true. He tangles with people like Cluemaster and fucking Ra’s al Ghul on the same level; the latter even puts his intellect and detective skills on the same level as Batman.

Hell, Damian’s been sulking for a while about some kind of hit-list for heroes and rogues alike.

If he didn’t religiously toe Bruce’s line, Tim could probably be as cold as Amanda Waller.

“Along with sending you off your head for bird boy, my blood also nixes that pesky little side-effect of you not being able to remember your previous lives,” Eros continues.

“But why?”

“I chose to wake you because of who you were. The strongest warrior of old. Determined. Reckless when it comes to the one you love. Those qualities don’t disappear when you're born into a new body, you know.”

“And obviously you want something.”

Eros’s entire demeanor shifts in an instant, going from smug pain in the ass to cold and dangerous. “I want my wife returned to me.”

Whatever Jason was expecting, it wasn’t that. There’s a beat where he repeats it again in his head, trying to make sure he heard right and momentarily thinking it’s such an easy request.

Until he remembers.

“You said she was dead.”

“In the technical sense, yes. The insecure drama queen that is my mother sent her on a quest to collect a container of beauty from the Queen of the Underworld. Someone replaced it with Stygian Sleep, which consigned her soul to the darkest, loneliest part of the Underworld.”

Jason stares, once again wondering if he heard right. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“I shit you not.”

“How the hell do you expect me to do that?”

“Funny you should mention ‘hell’,” Eros says with an unkind smile. “Obviously, you have to die first. A particular kind of dead. The kind that, under certain conditions, can be reversible.”

Conversations from the past days flicker in Jason’s memory and a particular sticking point that the Family has been very divided on.

“Stygian Sleep,” he guesses, a pit forming in his stomach.

“Exactly. And here I thought the pretty bird was the smart half of your little duo.”

Jason grits his teeth at the reference to Tim, the infection in his blood and a few millennia’s worth of latent and now remembered possessiveness boiling within him. He toys briefly with the idea of opening the damn cage and exorcising his frustrations on Eros.

The smug bastard must sense the intent because his smirk grows larger. “I’m game for a tumble if you are, sweetheart. But neither of us really has time for a quickie right now.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jason bites out, breathing through his nose until he can get his focus back on target. The idea of messing around with Eros helps, actually; the raw disgust at being with anyone other than Tim is like a bucket of ice water, dampening his fury. “So, how does me dying bring your wife back?”

“Being exposed to the Sleep will bind you to the same corner of the Underworld as her. With the right talisman in your possession, you can switch places with her.”

“I switch places with her? Or my soul switches places with her?”

Eros honest to fucking god claps his hands in delight. “Hah! You catch on quick. Yes, she’ll need a body, since hers is long gone. With your soul no longer taking up space, the swap will be easy.”

The implication hangs in the air. Jason isn’t about to just leave it.

“And I wouldn’t be coming back.”

Eros shrugs. “Nope.”

“Then I’m not doing it. There’s no benefit for anyone else but you, and I don’t just do shit for free.”

“Ah, but you see, this is why I needed you to be awake,” Eros purrs. “Because the meathead you are now might not have anything he’d be willing to sacrifice his own soul for…but the meathead you were definitely does.”

Jason’s gut pulls tight; he suddenly knows where this is going.

“If you do this favor for me, a god, I can ensure that your beloved is guaranteed an eternity of bliss once he dies. Hades owes me a favor I’ve never cashed in.”

“If he owes you a favor, why don’t you get him to get your wife back,” Jason growls.

“You don’t think I tried that? Even the god of Death is bound by the Styx.”

Jason thinks that’s awfully convenient, but he also knows it to be true. His mother—no, Achilleus’ mother—taught him the strength and unyielding nature of the River. Even the gods are unable to break oaths sworn by that flowing water and considering the power they have—considering they can influence where a soul ends up after their human death—that limits them considerably.

Jason swallows.

“And if I still say no?”

The cold, forbidding glint is back in his eyes. “Oh, the possibilities are endless. Maybe I’ll weaken the bonds between the two of you and send your love into the arms of an enemy.”

Jason is hit by a rather chilling, nauseating image of Tim sitting at the knee of Ra’s al Ghul.

“I told you all I need is a certain chemistry between two people,” Eros goes on, “and I’m sure there’s someone out there that would be happy to take and twist Patroklus or Hephaestion or whatever he’s called now until he’s so sullied he’ll be sent straight to Tartarus. And there’s no reincarnating from there. So he’ll be in Tartarus and you’ll be pining away in the Mourning Fields.” He pretends to consider it. “Of course, maybe you guys won’t find my diviners before then. In which case, things get messy. Assuming the world doesn’t descend into a frenzy of fucking, I may just use him until the flesh falls from his bones and he’s too exhausted to take another breath.”

Jason slams his fist into the glass. “You touch him, I’ll fucking rip your head off.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll be dead by this point. And he still won’t end up in the same place as you when you both die.”

“If I kill you now, it won’t really matter.”

“Killing a god…another one-way trip to Tartarus, and you still don’t save him any pain. Face it, Helmet Head, I’ve got you by the proverbial balls. At least if you cooperate, you get something out of it instead of royally shafted.”

Jason’s hands twitch toward his gun holster, rage blurring his vision for a moment at both the implicit and veiled threats.

He’s stuck, and he knows it,

Either Jason accepts this, thus guaranteeing Tim a peaceful afterlife—which, given the amount of shit he’s gone through would be a hell of a reward—or Jason can tell the entitled god of Love to fuck off.

And then die an agonizing death from going mad or taking the easy way out by shooting myself. Neither of which is a good death, if there can be such a thing.

Neither option ends with Jason’s afterlife being anything resembling peaceful.

Not that he ever expected anything like that, even the first time he died.

Or third time, I guess.

If all of this only involved him, it would be an easy decision to make. He’s never had an issue with throwing himself off the deep end of a bad situation—in any life—but it’s not just about him.

“If we’re going to be separated anyhow, it’s no different if it’s in paradise or rotting on the side of the Styx,” he says dully.

“Well, if that’s what you want to consign yourselves to,” Eros allows. “Or rather, what you want to consign your lover to. Imagine, fair Patroklus wasting away his eternity as a shade, crowding for space along the river, his only highlight when some wet-behind-the-ears comes looking for council. Lapping up blood from the dirt like a dog.”

The metaphorical knife twists and Jason has to fight down the urge to vomit.

“No.”

“Then, there you have it. Easy choice then.”

Jason swallows.

Tim is innocent in all of this, in that he doesn’t remember any other life but this one. He doesn’t know what they once were. But when his life ends, whether in the pursuit of Batman’s never-ending crusade, or eighty years old lying in bed, he’s going to wake up in the Underworld and remember everything.

If Jason doesn’t help Eros, he’s in for an eternity of misery.

Imagining the destroyed expression on his face—on Hephaestion, on Patroklus—makes Jason feel as if someone has shoved a knife into his own heart. Neither of them wanted to be separated; an eternity together was the whole point of making their pact, of trying to achieve Elysium three times.

It’s a huge decision.

Thousands of years of a pact to be together, and he’s contemplating breaking it. He can’t just decide this for both of them without Tim—without Patroklus—knowing the stakes, and without hearing his advice.

“Is there a way to wake him, too?” he asks roughly. “To get his memories back?”

“Same way as you,” Eros replies. “Mix blood—you’ve got me in your veins now, so you can even do that yourself if it’s one of your kinks.”

Jason shudders, at the implication and the information. That would just put Tim in the same boat as Jason, losing his mind and bound for a grisly death.

“Screw that. I’ll just tell him,” he decides. “He’s heard stranger things than that. I’ll explain it all to him.”

It won’t be exactly like telling Patroklus, but they’re the same person deep down.

“Sure, that’ll work,” Eros muses. “Or he might think you’re so far gone into your obsession with him that you’ve become delusional. He might even lock you up in digs like this, and then you can be useless to everyone.” He shrugs. “He’ll still be of use to me, though. So do whatever you want. Wake him up, don’t wake him up, I’ll still have someone to offer my deal to.”

Jason’s stomach sinks, because it’s true.

Patroklus—Hephaestion—Tim; he’s always been a self-sacrificing little shit, especially when it comes to him. If he thinks it will save Jason—save Achilleus or Alexandros—he’ll throw himself on the metaphorical sword.

And Tim’s been stabbed enough for one lifetime.

The men Jason was before would hate him for doing this. He thinks they would fight the gods themselves, bank on pride and anger to enact their will. They were heroes in their own mind, not fearing mortal challengers or death itself.

It’s the fundamental difference between them; Jason didn’t grow up as a king that was never given limits. He was born in the dirt and has been kicked back there repeatedly in his life. It’s taught him exactly what situations are worth it—whether the collateral damage is worth it—and when to regroup, or retreat.

He can’t see a way of winning this one. And only one scenario has a half-way acceptable outcome.

“I don’t give a shit about what Achilleus or Alexandros want, because I ain’t them,” Jason snarls. “Barring a few surround-sound memories, they’re about as real to me as the kid I was before I died. A memory, that's it.”

Eros bares his teeth. “That your final answer?”

“I’ll do it,” Jason tells him at last. “I put that kid through enough. I owe him. At least if he checks out of this life early like I did, I’ll know he’s going somewhere better.”

Even if it is without me.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, darlin’,” Eros replies, striding over to the drawer where he’s been getting his food. He opens it, tosses something inside with a clatter. “Keep this on you. It has to be on you when you succumb to the Sleep, otherwise, you and Psyche will both be trapped there and everyone’s fucked. And not in the good way.”

Warily, Jason opens the drawer on the outside and picks up the small, flat gold coin.

“What is this? Drachma for the ferryman?”

He's only being a little sarcastic; at this point, he wouldn't be surprised.

“Sort of the opposite. Too complicated for your monkey brain to understand,” Eros dismisses. “Just don’t lose it. For your boyfriend’s sake.”

Jason’s fist closes around the coin.

He tries not to wonder if Tim, or the men he was before, will forgive him for this.

⁂⁂⁂

________________________________________________________________

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Next Chapter

#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #jaytimbingo2019 #fanfic #jaytim fic #batfic #tim drake #jason todd #stephanie brown #bruce wayne #eros (new earth)#angst #action #drama #betrayal #amnesia #underworld #reincarnation

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thefinalexperiment · 5 years ago

Text

The Final Experiment Chapter 26: The Winter Soldier’s Child

Peter Parker x OC

A/N: Hello! It's me! After almost a year, here's a new bit to this series lol. Enjoy! (Also if you are fluent in Russian, I apologize for anything incorrect, Google Translate is my only resource)

I will no longer be linking things on new part posts due to dumblr and the link censoring, and just to be safe from any potential image post censoring, I will also not be including covers on my stories. All previous parts can be found in my masterlist, in my bio!

---

On the jet, I sat as far away from Bucky as possible. I was still mad at him, even though the logical side of me knew I just needed time. He kept looking at me, and it was starting to get irritating, but I tried not to lash out. I couldn't wait for the jet to land. We hadn't yet been debriefed so I'd have to wait for that too, but I was itching to get out into the field. Peter gave me an adorable grin and I smiled back, trying to shake the impending sense of doom. It’s not like I had a sixth sense or anything, but sometimes, I would figure things out subconsciously, and it would take my brain a while to catch up with a realization or to put it into words. Other times it was just a normal dose of anxiety, like any other agent might get when going on a mission so soon in a distracted mindset like this. I probably shouldn’t be going for that matter, but oh well.

Peter caught my eye again, and smiled encouragingly. I nodded in return. He was easy to read right now. His body language was clear: slightly nervous, wanting to impress me, wanting to impress Nat and Bucky, and wanting to impress Tony. He obviously hadn’t done many missions with the team yet, and he wanted to make sure he did well in their eyes. With me, I could sense that it was less about showing off, and more about him making sure I understood what he was capable of. After all, I had never seen the full extent of his powers.

The jet shakily began to lower. It must have been an issue with the cold, Northern Russian wind. From what I could see out the window, the sky was dark with large clouds. It seemed we might have an issue with weather… The jet touched down, and everyone gathered close for the debrief. There hadn’t been time for one before we left, so Steve and Tony were going to quickly give us the rundown before we went to investigate.

“So what is the deal with this place?” I finally asked, breaking the odd, silent tension that had lingered since we left. It was like everyone was worried about Bucky and I being in the same, small space for so long.

Nat reached over and pulled up the files on the holo-table for everyone to see.

“This was a base for a Russian chapter of HYDRA,” Steve explained. “We aren’t sure if it’s still active, or when it was abandoned if not, but Tony’s sensors picked up some concerning data.”

He nodded to Tony, who pulled up more data and some schematics and took over in explaining.

“These guys have got some naughty stuff in the basement. Whether they wanted it to or not, something they’ve got going on down there is waking up. We’re here to find out what it is.”

“Okay,” I said, mulling it over, “But why send us? SHIELD’s teams could’ve done a simple sweep. What’s different here?”

“Slow down, smarty pants,” Tony chided good naturedly. “I’m getting to that… The sensors indicate the potential for an Avengers-level threat. These anomalies appear to be experiments of some kind, could be people, other life forms… or just some reawakening science projects. Whatever it is, it’s awake, alive, and raring to go.”

“Has everybody without screen access gotten a good look at the schematics?” Steve asked.

Those of us nodded.

“Alright then. Nat, you and Kaitlynn head for the security headquarters, try to hack their system and give us eyes on their compound surveillance. Wanda, I want you, Pietro, and Peter with Tony, Thor, and I down on the detention level. If any of these experiments happen to get out of control, we’ll need your abilities to keep them in check. Bruce, hang back with Clint, Sam, and Bucky while they sweep for strays. Once the anomalies are under control, I want Tony and you for scientific assessment. If worst comes to worst, keep the Hulk on standby. Everybody clear?”

At our affirmations, Steve nodded, then he and Tony led the way out.

The base looked pretty typical, from my experience with HYDRA facilities: a large, gray, metal-and-cement compound, built into the surrounding landscape to disguise it. The doors were mechanical slabs of stone. Some quick work from Tony set gears in motion, and the doors slowly ground open.

Natasha and I slipped inside, like a pair of shadows, splitting off from the main muscle group. In this moment, it was easy to see that we shared DNA. Some behaviors are learned, some are ingrained in your very nature. The way the both of us moved in our stealth modes was eerily similar.

I led the way to the surveillance room, Nat covering my six. We both were silent, like invisible spectres, but the rest of the compound remained noiseless too. It was almost unsettling. I got the feeling this place was abandoned, and had been for some time now. So what had triggered Tony’s sensors?

The door to the room was already open when we arrived, just a crack. With a small motion of my head, I pointed this out to Natasha. She nodded and took up a place on one side of the door. I took the other.

Silently, she counted off.

One… Two… Three.

I kicked the door open, keeping my pistol up. Natasha was close behind. The two of us swept the room, relaxing when nothing turned up. Nat closed the door, holstering her gun. I followed suit.

“We’re into the surveillance room,” she said. “Starting to scan for intel now.”

I booted up the computers. They were old, but that didn’t make them any easier to crack. Nat and I sat side by side on the old, creaky chairs, going through lines of code until the old, black-and-white camera footage appeared on the monitors. We now had eyes on the team. Natasha let them all know, and upon their confirmation, I began to dig through the encrypted files stored away in the computer’s archives. Nat tossed a flashdrive to me, which I plugged in and began to transfer the files onto.

“There’s a lot of video archives,” I muttered to her. “And more than a few of them are marked Zimniy Soldat i Rebenok.”

Winter Soldier… and child.

That bad feeling I’d had earlier was beginning to make sense now. I was dreading this mission because I’d been here before.

Natasha and I looked at each other for a moment, then she sighed.

“Well, I’ve never been here before… and Bucky didn’t mention it, so he must not remember.”

“Or he does and he’s just hiding it again,” I muttered.

Nat gave me a sharp, almost motherly look, and I relented.

“Okay, okay… comm him and let him know what we found.”

“Or you could,” she said.

I clenched my jaw, really not in the mood for this, but I turned my earpiece on. Instead of only addressing Bucky, however, I spoke to the whole team.

“Guys, we’ve got archive footage of the Winter Soldier…”

Natasha watched me with an expectant look, but I said nothing else, so she rolled her eyes and spoke, “Winter Soldier and child,” she clarified.

The others were silent for a moment, before Tony finally spoke up.

“Alright, download everything, and we’ll debrief it together back at the base. How’s the detention level looking from up there? We’re nearing the location.”

“We’ve got three cameras dark,” Nat said, typing commands into the computer.

“But,” I interjected, flowing right along with her train of thought, “The ones that are operative are showing a few science kit type looking things… I’m not seeing any signs of life. Tony, you might want to go first, let FRIDAY scan for signs of radiation and whatnot.”

“You got it, kid,” he said. “Steve, Thor, you hang back with the rest of the kiddos.”

The sound of silence settled over the comms, the whole team waiting.

At long last, Tony’s voice sounded out once more.

“We’re clean on harmful radiation. Negative on major life signs.”

“Does that mean minor life signs aren’t off the table?” I heard Pietro sass.

“Yes, Speedy, that’s what it means,” Tony replied, in that infuriating yet endearing sarcastic tone of his. “Sam, bring Banner down here. Clint, contact SHIELD to have a cleanup crew sent here.”

“Copy that,” Clint said.

I sighed and sat back in the chair, glancing at Nat.

“Well, so much for an Avengers-level threat,” I joked.

“But not for nothing,” she replied, motioning to the flash drive.

I looked down at the little stick, turning it over in my hands.

“There’s probably a good reason he doesn’t want you remembering this, you know,” she said softly. “You know I won’t try to stop you. I actually think you have a right to know what happened… But you need to be prepared for what you might see.”

Considering her words, I slowly nodded.

“Okay.”

I felt like I should say more, but for once, I had no words. Luckily, I didn’t need to fill the silence, because Natasha stood and powered down the computers, no doubt leaving them for the SHIELD team to comb through.

“Come on, kid,” she said. “Let’s meet up with the others.”

---

A/N: So... dun dun dun! What do you think is on the flashdrive? Be sure to let me know in the comments!

Series Tags: @shamvictoria11 @mla02 @fanficcrapforme @goodbyefornow123 @thebookisbtr @what-inspirational-name

Everything Tags: @coconutknees @hollymac79

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demigodsanswer · 5 years ago

Note

61 and 90 for any pairing

Love confession + unexpected virgin

Y’all already know that when I see “any pairing” it means “Chris and Clarisse.” Someone’s gotta produce the content. This actually turned out way longer than I anticipated. I would rate this between a T and an M. There’s no smut, but there are mature themes and descriptions.

All mortal AU, they’re about 26/27

Read on AO3

~*~*~*~*~

Movies, take out, and beer had become a Saturday night tradition for the two of them since they’d finally earned enough seniority at the gym to not teach Sunday classes. It was easier for Clarisse - people din’t usually want to kick box or do cross fit on Sundays. But there were a lot of people who looked forward to Sunday morning yoga, and Chris, as the only male yoga instructor at the gym, brought in a lot of middle-aged moms. Him getting off that shift was a miracle spectacular enough to warrant a year’s worth of cheat days.

“Does that one woman still think we’re dating?” Clarisse asked, sitting back down on the couch with two fresh beers. Chris took his from her and smiled.

“Well, she hasn’t hit on me since.” Earlier that year, Chris had come up to her, a bit frantic, before his class started.

“I need a favor,” Clarisse worried he was going to ask her to cover his class. Almost three years of yoga twice a week had not made her qualified to lead a class, nor was she even particularly fond of yoga.

“What’s up?”

“This woman’s been hitting on me after every class. She’s like, forty. I need you to pretend to be my … something. Doesn’t matter. Girlfriend, wife, mother of my child, just something.”

Clarisse just rolled her eyes and smiled, “No problem … honey? Sweetie? Baby? Do you have a preference?”

Chris just let out a sigh of relief. “Whatever gets her to stop talking to me,”

He smiled at the memory. Clarisse had gone with “girlfriend” and “babe,” coming up to him and the end of class and putting an arm around his waist. Even a year later, the memory gave him butterflies. Chris wasn’t oblivious, he knew that he had liked her since pretty much the day they’d met, nearly three years ago. He just hadn’t found the exact right moment to ask her out.

But now he was on the clock.

He wasn’t the only guy who worked at the gym who admired a woman who could kick their ass and would do so upon request.

As far as Chris knew, she hadn’t been on a date in well over a year, but she had dated guys from the gym in the past - nothing that ever lasted very long, but it had happened. So he knew she liked guys and would go on a date, which was in his favor, as a guy who wanted to take her out on a date.

He was planning on waiting for the right moment, until the worst possible thing happened. Butch, the other main kick boxing coach, the only person in the gym who Clarisse was maybe as close to as she was with Chris, the only other person Chris had ever seen make Clarisse laugh (and he had prided himself for a long time on being about to get her to laugh), said the nine words that could have put Chris in his grave:

“Do you think Clarisse would go out with me?” Butch asked one day in the locker room.

Chris panicked. “No!” He yelled.

Butch’s face fell, “Well, thank you for your honesty.”

“No, no, wait, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant …” Chris took a deep breath, “I meant yes, she probably would go out with you, and because the answer is yes, I’m going to have to beg you not to ask her out.”

Butch looked confused, “Uh, why?”

“Because I want to ask her out. I’ve been meaning to for like … a year.”

“You guys are together, like, all of the time. Why haven’t you asked yet.”

Chris shrugged, “I’m a bit of a coward.”

Butch paused for a second before he said, “Alright, I won’t ask her out unless she turns you down.”

“Wait, really?” Chris said.

“Yeah, I mean, you’re my friend so it’d be pretty shit to ask out a girl you like when I know you like her. Plus the panicked look in your eye probably means you’ve got more than just a crush on her.”

Chris could cry. “You’re the best, man.”

And then three weeks passed. “Have you asked her out yet?” Butch asked.

“No, I haven’t,” Chris admitted.

“Dude …”

“I know, I’m sorry. Alright, how about, if I don’t ask her out by the end of the week, you can ask her out without any bro code guilt or whatever,”

Butch shrugged, “If having a deadline will help you get your ass in gear, then sure.”

And now it was Saturday. His week was almost up. He could do this. He could do this.

Could he do this without throwing up? Yet to be seen.

“So … do anything fun recently?” He asked.

“Do anything fun?” She was laughing at him. Oh god, this was a disaster.

“Yeah … like did you go to see any movies? Go on any dates?” Smooth Rodriguez, smooth.

“Dude, we talk to each other like, every day, I think you’d know if I had gone on any dates.”

“Well, I don’t know. I just sometimes hear rumors …”

“Hear rumors about me going on dates?” Now she seemed like she as getting angry. Time to back track.

“No, not about you going on dates, just about guys wanting to ask you out.” Alright brain, now is not the time to throw your very good and very kind friend Butch under the bus, he though.

“Oh please, there aren’t any guys at the gym who like me,” She leaned back and took another sip of her beer. Chris looked at her, confused. Even besides him and Butch, there had been a number of guys and girls over the years who had wanted to date her.

“That’s not true,” he told her.

“Oh yeah? Who is it then?” She asked sitting up.

Me, he thought, I do, come on mouth just say ‘me,’ m-e, it’s easy you can do it. “Do you remember Jake Mason?” he asked. Nope, you blew it, he thought.

“Yeah?”

“He wanted to ask you out.”

“Then why didn’t he?”

Because I begged him not to, Chris thought. “He was going to, but then he got that coaching job and moved away.”

Clarisse shrugged like she still didn’t really believe him. “Okay, well one guy over a year and half ago is not the same as a bunch of guys wanting to ask me out.”

“Well, I don’t want to blow anyones cover, so you’re just going to have to trust me,” Chris looked away from her, facing the TV and trying to focus on taking sips of his drink. He was pretty sure that if she looked at his face right now she’d be able to see right through him.

After a second Clarisse asked, “Is this a joke?” She didn’t sound angry, she sounded … sad. Vulnerable, Chris realized, she sounded vulnerable. After three years of knowing her, he couldn’t think of a single moment he’d heard her sound like that. He turned around; he could tell she was trying to look blank faced, but she looked hurt.

“No, Clarisse, it’s not –”

“Because it’s not funny.”

“Clarisse, I would never –”

“Oh but you expect me to believer there are just multiple guys at the gym who want to go out with me, but none of them have asked?”

“Yes, because that’s the truth!”

“Then name a single one,”

You, say you, you idiot, his brain screamed at him. “Butch!” Nope, you blew it.

Clarisse leaned back, “Butch?”

“Yeah. He told me last month he wanted to ask you out.”

Clarrise looked down at her hands, then back to him. “Then why hasn’t he?”

“What?”

“Why hasn’t he asked me out?” She moved in close to him, like she did when she was angry. He was so close he could kiss her without having to move too far forward. But, of course, he didn’t take the opportunity.

“Because!”

“Because why?”

“Because I asked him not to!”

Now she looked angry and confused, “Why? Why would you do that?”

“Because I -” he paused for a second and stopped yelling, “think you’re beautiful.” She didn’t look angry anymore, but she still looked confused. “And strong, and smart, and I want to kiss you so bad. Not just right now, but every moment that I’ve been with you or thinking about you for the last three years I’ve wished that I was kissing you. And I didn’t tell you or ask you out because I’m a wimp, and afraid of getting rejected, and afraid of ruining our friendship,” he turned back to the TV, “and I’m sorry I told Butch not to ask you out. That was wrong, but the idea of seeing you with him made me so goddamn sick to my stomach I didn’t know what else to do. So, I’m sorry.” He hid his face and his hands, hoping that she would just kind of leave him to his shame and misery.

“I hate yoga,” she said after a minute.

Chris looked up from his hands, but kept looking forward. “Wow, what a weird way to kick me when I’m down.”

“No, no,” she moved closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “I hate yoga, and I’ve gone to your class twice a week for two years.”

Chris finally turned back to look at her. Their faces were close again.

“I don’t want to go out with Butch,” she said.

“Oh.” She didn’t look vulnerable anymore, Chris realized.

“Kiss me,” she said.

That was all Chris needed. He closed the space between them, placing one hand on her thigh, and another on the back of her head, pulling her in close. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling them closer, before deciding to readjust so that she was straddling his lap. Chris smiled at the closeness, before opening his mouth slightly to bite her lower lip. She let out a slight gasp and moved her hands to the sides of his face as she kept kissing him.

Chris noticed her hands were trembling. he moved his hands off the backs of her thighs and pulled away, holding her hands in his. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, brushing it off, “it’s just … been a while.”

Chris smiled and kissed her again, “Well that’s a shame.” He moved his lips down to her neck, “You’re an excellent kisser,” he said.

They continued like that for a few minutes, their hands eventually finding their ways under each others shirts. Chris broke the kiss and pulled his off. Sure, she had seen him without a shirt in the gym before, but this felt entirely different.

Clarisse decided to follow his lead, taking her shirt off more slowly than he did. He had seen her in just a sports bra plenty of times, but this was the first time he’d seen her in just a regular bra. “Damn,” he muttered, looking her over. Her face flushed and Chris smiled, before leaning forward to kiss the tops of her breasts.

“Oh,” she gasped, grinding down on him slightly. He was definitely noticeably hard, there was no missing that.

“Do you wanna …?” He asked.

She pulled away just slightly to answer, “Huh?”

“Do you wanna …” He gestured vaguely to his bedroom, but she still didn’t respond, “have sex?” he finished the question without a lot of grace, but hoped for the best.

“Oh,” was all she said.

“We don’t have to,” he added quickly.

“I know, I just … yes.” She said. “Yes, I want to.”

Chris kissed her again, before they both stood up to move to the bedroom.

Once the door was shut, Chris pinned her against the door and started kissing her again. She kissed back and put her hands on his hips, but she was otherwise seemed completely still, until Chris noticed she was trembling again.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s just …”

“I know you said it’s been a while, but if it makes you feel better, it’s been a while for me too,” he offered.

“No, it’s not that it’s been a while. I mean, I guess, kind of it is but … You know what, never mind, don’t worry about it.” She grabbed his face and tried to keep kissing him, but he pulled away.

“Reese, you can talk to me. I don’t want to do this if you’re worried or unsure.”

“I’m not worried or unsure it’s just that…” Her face was bright red, “I’ve never done this before.” She finally said. Before Chris could say anything, she turned around and opened the door. “I’m sorry, it’s weird, I should go.”

“No, wait, Clarisse,” He grabbed her wrist before she was too far out the door. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but I don’t think it’s weird.”

She turned back around. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s totally fine. But, we can wait, if you want, for a more romantic time.” He offered.

She shook her head, “I haven’t been waiting for some perfect romance or anything, I just never felt like I had the right opportunity. There have been opportunities, they just never … felt right, I guess.”

Chris smiled, “So you think I’m the right opportunity?“

She smiled and pushed past him back into the bedroom, “Oh, shut up.”

He kept smiling as he followed her back in, closing the door again. “But this does really work out in my favor. No bar for you to judge me against,”

Clarisse shrugged, “Or over a decade of built up expectations, whichever way you want to look at it.” He could tell she was only half teasing.

“I’m gonna go with my way,” Chris decided, closing the space between them again. He walked Clarisse backwards without breaking their kiss until the backs of her legs bumped into the bed. “Are you sure?” He asked again.

Clarisse just smiled and pulled them both into the bed.

#clarisse la rue #chris Rodriguez #percy jackson and the olympians #always already on my bullshit #Anonymous

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mikenips · 4 years ago

Text

Pinheads

“What the fuck are you doing back here? You aren’t even working tonight.” One of the other managers at Bowlero, the new bowling alley and venue, says to me.

“I’m playin’ tonight.” We all wish we had known the Stools were doin’ a live album recording down at OLL tonight before we booked it though. Rae said Chuck told her before I picked her up that they don’t play till midnight. So the goal is to rush the sets so we can get there in time for their set.

“That explains the war paint on the eyes.” Chip, the mechanic that once got fired as a carny, says as he spits dip into a coffee cup. “Ya know ya got some jeans with those holes though Mike?” Damn. That’s pretty clever.

My mom’s side of the family is down at lane one. And my dad’s side is hangin’ in the lounge. Even my uncle from New Mexico is in town for the holidays. Jordan is setting up the kit. Sound checkin’ the violin. Drew walks into the storage room that doubles as a green room for gigs. Me and Greg the bartender are hittin’ a vaporizer before I get on stage. We play first. “You see how Drew walked in here man? He walked up like he owns this bitch!”

And the scene really does own this bitch. I’m the bar manager at twenty one. Drew just started training to bartend. Dom works the front desk here and there. Everyone else askin’ if we can pull some strings to get them hired or booked. Just waitin’ on Sugar Tradition. Gotta make sure they don’t get carded. The kids are still in high school. And we’re eighteen up. Like the owners would really care though. They got history too. One of ‘em owning the Garden Bowl. The other is one of the top lawyers in Oakland County. Used to own the Falcon Club in Hamtramck in the nineties. Actually even was Johnny’s lawyer to get Outer Limits their liquor license.

We open with “Haunted House.” I’m fuckin’ baked. And already forgettin’ the lyrics. That shot of jezy Greg fed me probably didn’t help. Nobody is here yet besides my family. A few members of the Hand. And some Royal Oakies waitin’ on lanes that don’t understand what the fuck is happening. We’re botchin’ even our classics. At least the Oakies are gettin’ a real weird show.

Yelp into a drone cover of “Real Cool Time” as Jordan saws away at his violin behind me. Antonio rollin’ across the stage in front of me. Glad they got in alright.

Fuck it. We got a show to get to tonight. “This is gonna be our last one.” A piece of glitter falls into the corner of my eye. “It’s about when it’s five am. You’re blacked out. Shirtless. Pissin’ on the side of a 7-11. Smokin’ a spliff. Shotgunnin’ a tall boi. If you could all raise your drinks.” Rip through “Miller High Life” before boltin’ for a cig while Sugar Tradition sets up.

“Dude!” Jordan says to me as we load some gear into the car. “I think that was the worst set we ever played.”

Dee comes up behind us. “What are you talkin’ about? That’s the best part about Just Guys Being Dudes. There’s no bad sets. Every set is it’s own experience. I really dug it. The owner was behind me and Rae vibin’ too.”

Take a drag. “Thanks Dee. That means a lot to me.”

Walk back inside. Didn’t even realize how many people had showed up. Sean’s dad, my old high school film teacher, is here. Still doesn’t know he showed my dick at the student film show at the end of the year. Even fuckin’ Ian Ruhala showed his bitch ass. There’s no way that was coincidental. Not when his girlfriend’s sister is performing with Zilched at the Stools show. Joey’s gonna lose his shit when he gets here from the wedding.

“That was sick Michael!” My coworker Reagan says to me. “Wanna celebrate by doin’ a shot of Jager with me? You don’t even gotta give me a drink ticket.” I’m about to be trashed tonight. What am I talkin’ about? I already am.

“Why not? I’m gonna need seven shots of jezy too though.”

“Wakin’ up I got a nothin’ to do!” Sugar T kicks into one of their many rippers.

Cy, my GM, walks over to me. “These guys are really good.” I can barely make out her words over Kevin’s spastic style of jazz drumming. “They’re like a psychedelic Mudhoney.”

“Yeah. They’re also only seventeen too. Don’t tell the managers though I booked some minors.”

She laughs. “Nobody should be that good at that young of an age. Do they have a CD?”

“Nah. We put out their debut album on the cassette label I’m helping run though.”

“What the fuck are you kids doing making cassettes again?”

“Cause they’re fuckin’ sick! You wanna hear this fuzz on something just as fuzzy. We don’t wanna clean this noise up!”

Walk back to center stage. Jake is in the corner with Evan. Owen layin’ on the floor in front of the couch. Crossed the border for this night. On the couch next to Rae is Joey Molloy goin’ hard to Sugar Tradition’s set. Gotta love Joey. Nobody goes as hard at a show as good ol’ Joey Molloy. Bleached tufts of hair whippin’ through the air the same way their brain whips back and forth in the skull. Everyone takes the Polish, purple nectar. Jeżynówka. A Hamtramck staple. A little piece of home all the way out here.

Joey walks in, still in his suit, and helps Drew wheel three cabs into the crammed lounge as I meet Antonio at the merch table. They spent over a mill on this remodel. And the Hand is about to shatter all the windows here when they hit their first note. This will be the first and last time they let a stoner metal band in here. TJ stoned as fuck on the floor testin’ out the Juno. Sean, equally as baked, clicks open the briefcase synth he made.

“Yoo Antonio. Whenever you guys are ready I’ll take you to the office so the manager can cut you a check. You just gotta fill out some tax forms.”

“Shit… This is like a legit gig then?”

We weave through the overfilled lounge. Drunks and stoners attempt to file towards the stage. BO and fuzz forcin’ the yuppies to wait for their lanes elsewhere. Tonight, this bitch is ours.

Paperclips and loose change vibrate their way off the desk in the office as the Hand strikes their first drone. “Wait… Kev,” Antonio spins in the desk chair. “What’s my social security number?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“You guys don’t know your social security numbers? How?”

“Dude. We’re in high school. We’ve never had to use ‘em before.”

“Honestly,” my coworker cuts in. “We don’t really need the W-9. If you take it with you and bring it back in a couple days it’s probably fine. But I really don’t give a shit if you do.”

Head back to the bar. All the freaks headbang in unison to Joey’s screams before Drew rips into a solo. Greg hands over two shots before I even flag him down. “I knew Drew was gonna shred because he never talks about his band. The quiet ones always shred. Good job putting this together Mike. Not a huge drinking crowd. But I’ll take a chill night. Gettin’ stoned to some chuggin’ bands whenever it comes.”

Or at least I think that’s what he said. I can’t hear over the riff. Hail the fuckin’ riff! Wrappin’ it just before midnight. Nobody says goodbye to each other before we all dip. It’s every man for himself. Drag racin’ down I-75 to get to OLL. Somewhere in the night Caveman Woodman is yellin’ about the Stools. Tellin’ folks to fuck off if they think rock n’ roll is dead.

Walk into Outer Limits greeted by the familiar unbearable humidity of a crowd of familiar faces. Not a single face you don’t recognize. Greeted with a free Stroh’s and shot of Hornito’s courtesy of Johnny. Kid Infinity on the stoop of the stage. Documenting the entire night on camera. 208. The Long Stairs. The rest of the Waterheads. Everyone from the Bowlero show there too. Sweat gluing bodies together as flesh meets flesh. “This one’s about a spooky dream Will had!” KQ shouts into the mic as Chuck uses his already soaked shirt to wipe sweat from his forehead. As Will’s screeching guitar bends, cuing “Black Fly Stew.” Two step tune off their latest seven inch from Third Man Records. Jack White may be a prick. But he sure puts out some good ass music.

This time I’m not gonna concuss myself on Joey Molloy’s eye socket. They speed and slop their way through their discography. Dig into some tracks Will claims are older than some of us. Kirk recording every second through the soundboard to be put out on Chuck’s cassette label Painter’s Tapes. “How does two more sound?” KQ asks after finishing up a version of “Q-Nails” that’s half the length of the studio version. But still has all the original notes. Bodies make their way off the concrete ground to their feet. Stomachs cramp from downin’ Stroh’s. Lungs attempt to catch their breath. Jake yells back to ‘em “Eat shit Mike Duggan!” We don’t need no curfew. Unplug us and we’ll scream louder.

Mikey of the Waterheads discusses Sigmund Freud on the patio while we all pass joints to each other. Never give those lungs a break. Kyle of 208 passes out Remove Records t-shirts. Tells us none of us need to pay for ‘em. But we all force money into his hands. “This is what the scene is about man.” My words come out half coherent.

“Exactly! That’s why I’m so glad me and Shelby came here from Florida. This is what music should be about! Community. Doing it for each other. Fuckin’ being there! Cause without each other, none of what’s goin’ on is possible. We’re like one big, happy, chaotic family!”

Jake punches my shoulder at the bar. Radiating the energy of the Bananas in Pajamas. A loose and excitable toddler ready to play. We each get a shot of jezy. “You here anything yet about HMF Nips?”

“Nah. I saw they ‘leaked’ some of the lineup. But it was all like Hala. Legume. Who Boy. The indie bands ya know.”

“See. And that’s what’s fucked man! They don’t fuckin’ get it like we do. We’re out here every fuckin’ night playin’ these joints. We’re all at every show for each other. They make one appearance a month. Half the time not even in Hamtramck. They don’t support each other. They’re in it for the clout! And fuckin’ Who Boy gets picked before any of us?! That’s fucked up man.”

“It is dude. But don’t worry so much about it. I’m sure it’ll all pan out for us. Cause we get it. And they don’t. You wanna come over to my place after? Make some pancakes or some shit?”

“Oh heeeellll yeah! Pancakes at Belmont. I’ll rally the troops. We gettin’ trashed tonight!”

As if we aren’t already. Rip through a fifty pack of whip-its in twenty minutes. Sittin’ around eatin’ pancakes at three in the morning. Listenin’ to the 13th Floor Elevators as Joey tries persuadin’ everyone into watchin’ Pirates of the Caribbean. “Dead Man’s Aaaaasssss…” his whipped voice whispers to every single one of us individually.

Jake does his first popper as if he’s huffed it before. Panicking in the barstool in my living room. “I’m sweaty. My head hurts. And my face is hot, man. My face is hot!” Before locking himself in the bathroom with a sealed fifth of tequila. We continue to chainsmoke in the house I rent. No mention of not smokin’ in my lease. Dunkin’ chocolate chip pancakes in a bowl of syrup. He re-emerges from the bathroom. Quarter of the bottle now inside him. Or possibly in my toilet. “Rae. You gotta finish this. I can’t do it.”

Owen spits up on Giovanna while tryin’ to rush to the bathroom. Attempts to wipe the bile off her knee before returning to the cool tile floor around the toilet to sleep for the night. Jake arguing with me and Rae about ordering him an Uber home. “You’d fuckin’ love it if I crashed on your futon Nips. You’d fuckin’ love ordering me an Uber home wouldn’t you Rae?”

“Jake dude. I don’t know what you want from me man. Your car is at Evan’s anyways.”

“I just wanna shit on my toilet!”

So eventually he consents. Tells Rae he’ll Venmo me the ten bucks she spent on him cause he’s “Venmoed Michael Nipples before.” Even though I’ve never had one. Yells back to us with the passenger door open “what’s its name?” As he struggles to crawl into the whip.

And as Rae and I go to sleep. My phone buzzes with three texts from the drunk Toehead. “Uh oh…”

“Help…”

“We listenin’ to Dough Boyz!”

Fuckin’ idiot. Pinhead. That’s what we all are though. Or at least what we pretend to be.

#bowlero #hail the riff #just guys being dudes #vague glimpses of beauty #outer limits lounge #the stools #the hand 420 #sugar tradition #remove records #painters tapes #grown up fucked up #detroit garage rock #detroit diy #a vibe

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